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GWYNETT OF 
THORNHAUGH 


A Romance 

BY 

Frederick W. Hayes, A.R.A. 
Author of “A Kent. Squire" 



WITH 

SIXTEEN FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY THE AUTHOR 


NEW YORK 

THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 
i goo 


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1193 

^Library of Congress 

Two Copies Received 

tAN 3 190? 

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2nd Copy Delivered to 

ORDER DIVISION 

JAN 7 1901 


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COHVRIGHT, 1900, 

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CONTENTS, 


CHAP. PAGE 

PROLOGUE, ..... ... 3 

BOOK I 

A DEAD MAN'S SHOES 

I. A Three Years’ Retrospect, 11 

II. The Salon of Madame de Valincour, . . .14 

III. The Setting of the Sun, 25 

IV. A Remarkable Prophecy, 36 

V. On the 1st of September, 1715, . . . .46 

VI. A Coup D’Etat, 54 

VII. The Princesse Palatine, 64 

VIII. A Conversation at St. Cyr, 76 

IX. Nolo Martyrari, 86 

x!. A Visit to the Bastille, 95 

XI. How M. Jules Grivois Found Employment, . 106 

XII. A Mutual Understanding, . , . . .120 

BOOK II 

KING, BY RIGHT DIVINE 

XIII. How Lord Stair Was Uneasy, . . . .127 

XIV. The Abbe Gaultier’s Programme, . . 136 

XV. The Convent of “Les Filles de Ste. Marie 

Therese/ ........ 115 


vi Contents 

CHAP. 

XVI. How Lord Stair Made Himself Easy Again, . 

XVII. At Nonancourt, 

XVIII. A Highway Robbery, 

XIX. Grandpre, 

XX. M. le Capitaine Rousseau, 

XXI. A Message, 

XXII. In Which Gwynett Meets Two Old Acquaint- 
ances, • 

XXIII. How the Abbe Gaultier Was Very Much Dis- 
satisfied, 

XXIV. How the Abbe Gaultier Put Matters Straight, 

XXV. How M. de Bauge Came to the Hotel Croissy, 

XXVI. At Lord Stair’s, 


BOOK III 


THE “ROYAL MARY ” 


XXVII. Visitors at Holywell, 
XXVIII. “Vengeance Is Mine,” 


XXIX. At The “Three Tuns,” 

XXX. The Diplomacy of Captain Kermode, 

XXXI. Off Portland Bill, .... 
XXXII. The Hold of the Royal Mary, 
XXXIII. The Deck of the Royal Mary, 

XXXIV. On Shore, 

XXXV. The Justice-Room at Dorrington, . 


PAGE 

154 

161 

173 

1S1 

192 

200 

210 

218 

225 

235 

245 


259 

269 

275 

287 

295 

305 

314 

322 

330 


Contents vii 

BOOK IV 

FIAT JUSTITIA 

CHAP. PAGE 

XXXVI. Auguries, 815 

XXXVII. Pere Germont Again, 855 

XXXVIII. M. Sanson Drives a Bargain, .... 868 

XXXIX. TJne M'esse Noire 375 

XL. A Confession, .881 

XLI. How M. Sanson was Paid Five Louis, . . 303 

XLII. An Invitation, 400 

XLIII. Silent Witnesses, . . . . . ... . 404 

XLIV. Euthanasia, 409 

XLV. Afterwards, 419 

XLVI. Requiem JEternam Dona El , ... 4£9 

XLVII. Back at Dorrington, 437 

Epilogue, 441 


r 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


“ The priest advanced his face a little nearer” ( page 380) 

Frontispiece 

Dr. Fagon and Lebrun, v 30 

“ I went to St. Cyr this morning,” 90 

An attack in the Rue St. Antoine, 117 

At the Convent, 152 

u A man riding a black mare,” 178 

Gwynett meets Captain Kermode, .... . 210 

“ You hear that, mademoiselle,” ...... 227 

“ Dorrington bent forward,” 272 

“ Muriel faced him with flashing eyes,” 304 

‘ £ A last imprecation and defiance, ” ..... 321 

The wreck, 326 

The augury of the smoke, 352 

“ A frightful scene followed,” 389 

“The Regent stood with arms folded,” 419 

“ Incensing the kneeling figure,” 431 


PRO LOGUE 


I T has elsewhere* been narrated that in the late autumn 
in the year 1711 (when negotiations were pending be- 
tween the governments of Queen Anne and Louis XIV. 
to terminate the nine years’ war of the Spanish Succes- 
sion ), a brig named the Fleur de Lys arrived at Calais. 

She was in charge of Mr. Ambrose Gwynett, a young 
Jacobite gentleman of Kent who had recently served with 
the French forces in Spain in defence of Philippe V. 
(grandson of Louis XIV.) against the emperor of Ger- 
many. 

On board this ship, secreted behind the sheathing of 
the lazarette after a fashion which had been devised by 
Mr. Gwynett, were certain chests of gold, sent by Phi- 
lippe V. to Louis XIV., to enable the latter to buy off the 
duke of Marlborough (generalissimo of the Allies) from 
any further hostile action against France. 

At fm interview between the marquis de Torcy (the 
French foreign secretary) and the duke, the latter agreed 
to accept £1,000,000 sterling as a consideration for prom- 
ising to sheath his sword finally, should the emperor con- 
tinue the war independently of peace being made be- 
tween France and England. 

Accordingly the Fleur de Lys (which had been given 
to Mr. Gwynett by Louis XIV.), with £1,000,000 of the 
treasure still left in its hiding-place, was lent to the 
duke, and by him placed in charge of one captain Ker- 
mode, to be convoyed from the Hague to London by a 
queen’s ship, the Mermaid. 

But the Fleur de Lys and the Mermaid were separated 
the night of their departure from Holland, and it was 
not till about a month later that Kermode arrived at 
Marlborough House and reported to the duke that the 

*See “A Kent Squire.” 


4 Prologue 

brig had caught fire and sunk at sea, he and the crew 
having been rescued by the Royal Mary , a schooner owned 
and manned by four half-brothers of his own, who had 
brought him to England. 

********* 

Mr. Gwynett was betrothed to a young lady whose 
father, Mr. Randolph Dorrington, of Dorrington Hall, 
Devon, had mysteriously disappeared in May, 1694, a short 
time before her own birth and her mother’s death. 

Muriel Dorrington and madam Rostherne, a widowed 
aunt by whom she had been brought up, were neighbors 
of the Wrays, of Wray Manor, a property adjoining Mr. 
Gwynett’s. Muriel’s bosom friend Avice, a niece of squire 
Wray, was engaged to the squire’s son Noel, who hap- 
pened also to be Gwynett’s early playmate and most inti- 
mate friend. 

A certain abbe Gaultier (a French agent employed by 
lord Oxford and Mr. Henry St. John — afterwards lord 
Bolingbroke — in the secret pour-parlers with Louis XIY.’s 
government) was a suitor for Muriel’s hand. He re- 
sented malignantly her preference for Gwynett, and made 
several attempts upon the life of the latter — who, how- 
ever, remained entirely unaware both of his enemy’s iden- 
tity and of his motives. 

One of these attempts, in which Gwynett narrowly es- 
caped being burnt alive, was aided by the collusion of a 
friend of Gaultier’s, one pere Germont (cure of the ham- 
let of Ste. Marie Geneste), who secretly carried on the 
manufacture of perfumes, drugs and poisons, which were 
sold in Paris by his niece, a herbalist named Marie Latour. 
This woman had a liaison with Charles Sanson, public ex- 
ecutioner to the city of Paris, whose little son had on one 
occasion been cured of a dangerous seizure, through the 
exercise by Gwynett of a certain magnetic gift of healing 
which he possessed in a somewhat notable degree. 

A second attempt on Gwynett’s life was frustrated by 
Randolph Dorrington, who had just escaped to England, 
after a close imprisonment in France of seventeen years’ 
duration. The evening before his escape, which was ar- 
ranged by M. de Torcy, he had learned confidentially from 
that gentleman that he owed his imprisonment to the fact 
that he had unwittingly been the bearer of lord Marl- 


Prologue 5 

borough's famous “Brest letter" of May 4th, 1694, to the 
exiled James II., betraying William Ill.'s intended expe- 
dition against Brest under the command of general Tal- 
mash. 

M. de Torcy's information about this letter, the disas- 
trous failure of the attack on Brest, and the resulting 
death of his foster-brother and cherished friend Talmash, 
had filled Dorrington with a burning resentment against 
Marlborough. But he had promised de Torcy, in the event 
of regaining his liberty, to make no move against the duke 
until de Torcy had placed in his hands, as a proof of Marl- 
borough's treachery, the Brest letter itself. 

Within a few hours of Gaultier's second attempt to mur- 
der Gwynett, Dorrington was kidnapped by a press-gang 
belonging to the Mermaid, while visiting the “Crown and 
Anchor" tavern at Deal in company with Gwynett. The 
circumstances of the capture enabled Gaultier, who wit- 
nessed it, to fasten upon Gwynett a charge of murdering 
Dorrington (of whose identity Gaultier was unaware). 
Gwynett was arrested, tried, and convicted of the supposed 
crime; but thanks to the assistance of captain Kermode 
and his half-brothers he escaped abroad, everyone except- 
ing his rescuers believing him to be dead. 

He made his way to his only surviving relative, a ma- 
ternal uncle at Munich, the baron von Starhemberg, whose 
family frame he had formerly assumed (at the request of 
M. de Torcy) while in France. Passing through Paris to 
Bavaria, he saved the life of the due d’Orleans, the king’s 
nephew, in a street riot — the duke being led by M. de 
Torcy (w r ho was assured of Gwynett's death) to believe 
that his preserver was Randolph Dorrington. 

The Paris disturbances arose out of the popular suspi- 
cion — carefully fostered by M. d’Orleans' enemies, ma- 
dame de Maintenon, the due du Maine (elder of Louis 
XIV.'s illegitimate sons), and their Jesuit entourage — 
that the duke had poisoned two of the direct heirs to the 
monarchy — viz., the king's grandson the due de Bourgogne 
(styled the “grand dauphin") and the latter's son (the 
“petit dauphin"), together with the duchesse de Bour- 
gogne. All these had recently died within a few days of 
each other from some unknown disorder. The duke’s 


6 


Prologue 

motive was asserted to be that of clearing the way for his 
daughter (wife of another of Louis XIV.’s grandsons, the 
due de Berri) becoming queen of France, as the only 
intervening heir was now the due de Bourgogne’s second 
son, a feeble and sickly child of two years old. 

With these fatalities in the French royal family (fol- 
lowing closely on the death of the former dauphin, Louis 
XIV.’s only legitimate son) the due d’ Orleans had noth- 
ing whatever to do, and the solution of the mystery lay 
in the measureless ambition of a great court beauty, Gaul- 
tier’s sister, the comtesse de Valincour. This personage’s 
schemes for attaining political power (known only to her 
brother) required the advancement of the due d’Orleans 
(at this period almost an exile from court) to the posi- 
tion either of regent or of king, he being now the next 
heir to the throne after the baby dauphin and his own 
son-in-law the due de Berri. 

The comtesse had been attached to the household of the 
duchesse de Bourgogne, and passed after her death to the 
household of the duchesse de Berri. But she had, so far, 
rejected the addresses of M. d’Orleans on the ground — 
as she allowed him to learn through his factotum and 
former tutor the abbe Dubois — of his being a “political 
nonentity,” and cherished a secret penchant for the chev- 
alier de Starhemberg. This was the name, as has been 
said, under which Gwynett passed in Paris and Versailles, 
and the comtesse was aware of no other. But her brother 
the abbe Gaultier, on the contrary, knew nothing of Gwy- 
nett except under his real name, and was convinced, like 
the rest of the world, that he was dead. 
********* 

Somewhat later than these events Gwynett returned to 
England in disguise, and revealed himself to his family 
lawyer, Mr. Wrottesley, from whom he learned that the 
Wray household was on a visit to some relatives settled in 
Virginia, that Xoel Wray was missing, and the where- 
abouts of Muriel and her aunt Rostherne was unknown, 
while nothing had been heard of Mr. Dorrington or the 
Mermaid , the ship being absent on a long voyage. He 
therefore returned to Bavaria. 

Just at this time the duke of Marlborough, suspecting 
that the compromising Brest letter had come into the 


7 


Prologue 

hands of his political enemy, the prime minister lord Ox- 
ford, fled from England (November 28th, 1712). Hi3 
arrival at Antwerp was taken by the marquis de Torcy as 
a proof that the duke intended to break his promise, and 
to reassume command of the emperor of Germany's forces. 
Unaware of Mr. Dorrington’s disappearance, the marquis 
despatched the Brest letter to that gentleman, as arranged, 
at Wilks Coffee-house, with the intention of precipitating 
an encounter between him and the duke, and thereby rid- 
ding France of her most dangerous antagonist. But the 
letter remained, of course, undelivered, 


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BOOK I 

A DEAD MAN’S SHOES 


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Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


BOOK I 

A Dead Man’s Shoes 


CHAPTER I. 

A THREE YEARS'' RETROSPECT. 

I T was Monday, August 26th, 1715. 

Since the flight of the duke of Marlborough from 
England on November 28th, 1712, a good many things 
had happened which concerned, directly or indirectly, the 
personages who are to reappear in this narrative. 

The peace negotiations at Utrecht had come to a final 
close on April 11th, 1713, when nine different powers had 
signed treaties. But the emperor of Germany had held 
aloof, and it was not till September, 1714, that prince 
Eugene had signed with marechal Villars the treaty of 
Rastadt, and thus terminated definitely the War of the 
Spanish Succession. 

On May 4th, 1714, the due de Berri died at Marly, M. 
Boulduc (the king’s apothecary) and all the other doc- 
tors averring that the symptoms of his illness were iden- 
tical with those noticed in the cases of the due de Bour- 
gogne and his wife. The duchesse de Berri, who had not 
yet borne any living children, was very much annoyed at 
losing her chance of a crown, and the grief of her dame 
d’atours, madame de Valincour, was understood to have 
been quite touching to witness. 


12 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

On June 16th following, the duchesse was prematurely 
confined of a daughter, who died twelve hours later. The 
little dauphin, due d’ Anjou, great-grandson of Louis XIV., 
was now the sole survivor in France of the king’s three 
generations of legitimate descendants, and the due d’ Or- 
leans stood next to him in succession to the throne. 

On July 29th, the princes of the blood and the peers of 
France were amazed and enraged by the news that Louis 
XIY. had formally legitimated his two sons by madame 
de Montespan, the due du Maine and the comte de Tou- 
louse, giving them precedence and rights of succession 
after the princes of the blood (MM. d’ Orleans, de Bour- 
bon-Conde, and de Conti). 

A month later the president and the attorney-general 
of the parliament of Paris were summoned to Versailles 
to receive from the king a sealed packet containing his will. 
The parliament was forthwith assembled to be informed 
of this deposit, and to register his majesty’s decree that 
this was his will, that it appointed a regency, and that 
immediately after his death it was to be opened and read 
before the princes of the blood, the peers, and the members 
of the parliament. The contents were kept secret ; but 
people drew their own conclusions from a remark of the 
king’s next day to the “queen of England,” James II.’s 
widow. She had come from Chaillot to call upon Louis, 
and he said to her angrily, “They would absolutely have 
me do it ; but as soon as I am dead, it will be just the same 
as if I had not done it.” 

In England, just at this time, matters had suddenly 
been turned upside down. Henry St. John, viscount Bo- 
lingbroke, had succeeded after three years of incessant in- 
trigue in ousting his colleague lord Oxford from power 
and office. On Tuesday, July 27th, 1714, the lord-treas- 
urer was dismissed by Anne, and Bolingbroke was installed 
in his stead. On the following Sunday the queen died. 
Before the Tories or the Jacobites could open their mouths, 
the Whigs proclaimed the elector of Hanover king, and 
formed a Council of Kegency under the Act of 1705. In 
the evening of the same day the duke of Marlborough ar- 
rived in England from Ostend (whence he had sailed on 
hearing of the queen’s impending decease), and received 
an enormous ovation on his way to London. Under a 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


i3 


Whig ministry and a new Whig parliament, lords Oxford, 
Bolingbroke, and Ormonde were impeached for treason in 
connection with the peace of Utrecht. Oxford was sent 
to the Tower, and his two colleagues fled to France and the 
service of the Pretender, the chevalier de St. George, in 
Lorraine. 

In Spain the young queen Marie-Louise of Savoy was 
dead, Philippe V. had taken for his second wife Elizabeth 
of Parma, and the princesse des Ursins was an exile. 

In Lorraine, the Pretender and his Jacobite entourage 
were busy planning an armed rising in Great Britain, to 
be assisted if possible either by the French government or 
by Charles XII. of Sweden. The former had, so far, de- 
clined to violate the treaty of Utrecht, and the reply of 
the latter had not yet been received. 

At Versailles, Louis XIV. lay dying. 


14 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SALON OF MADAME DE VALINCOUR. 

O N the evening of August 26th, 1715, madame de 
Valincour held a reception at her hotel in Paris. 
The comtesse had lost her husband in the sum- 
mer of the previous year, shortly after resigning her post in 
the de Berri household at Marly, but she was now out of 
mourning. Since coming to reside in Paris, she had been 
recognized as a shining light in the society of the capital. 
This was more or less in opposition to that of Versailles 
and represented partly the adherents of the due d’ Or- 
leans, partly those who were disappointed or ignored under 
the existing regime, and partly those who detested madame 
de Maintenon, the “legitimes” (MM. du Maine and de Tou- 
louse), and the Jesuit entourage of the king. In this so- 
ciety the comtesse was immensely popular. While her 
beauty, fresher and more dazzling than ever, was the con- 
stant theme of the men’s admiration, she disarmed the 
hostility of the women by absolutely declining to rob 
them of their lovers. In fact, the insensibility of the fair 
relict of M. de Valincour was so marked as to be consid- 
ered quite unbecoming. Even the due d’ Orleans, who had 
rarely to complain of any excessive rigidity on the part of 
his lady acquaintances, went about saying that the virtue 
of madame de Valincour was perfectly preposterous. Nev- 
ertheless, he attended her receptions with conspicuous reg- 
ularity, and listened with an enigmatical smile when his 
friends assured him that if the comtesse was in love with 
anybody it was with his factotum and dme damnee, the 
abbe Dubios. 

On this particular evening the three large salons of the* 
hotel Valincour were filled with Orleanists, and all the 
talk ran upon the impending regency. The king’s dan- 
gerous illness, which had begun just a week before, had 
raised the fears and hopes of the two warring parties in 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


15 


the political world to fever heat, and no report was too 
unlikely to secure at all events a moment’s hearing. Al- 
though the contents of the will deposited with the parlia- 
ment of Paris a year ago were still undivulged, it was per- 
fectly certain that it had been drawn up under the Main- 
tenon influence. It must therefore be either disadvan- 
tageous or perilous to the due d’ Orleans, whose technical 
right to the sole regency was otherwise indisputable. But 
on the previous night something had happened which 
seemed to suggest a more favorable outlook for the duke. 

The king had received the sacrament from the hands of 
cardinal de Bohan and pere Tellier his Jesuit confessor, 
and had signed some document prepared for him by the 
chancellor Voysin (successor to the comte de Ponchar- 
train). Then he had sent for the due d’Orleans, who now 
had a suite of rooms at Versailles, and after some little 
conversation had told him emphatically that “he would find 
nothing in the will but what would please him.” This 
piece of news had had the effect of rendering the duke’s 
reception-room so crowded that, to quote the due de St. 
Simon, there was not space for a pin to fall to the ground. 

Amongst the guests who came to pay their compliments 
to madame de Yalincour were several persons who may be 
already known to the reader. M. Bene de Lavalaye had 
brought his newly married wife, nee .Daguerre, and was ac- 
companied by his worthy father-in-law, the governor of 
Calais. The duke of Berwick (Marlborough’s nephew, and 
half-brother to the Pretender) had come with MM. de Sim- 
iane and de Canillac, and was talking to the due de 
Hoailles. The latter was full of the abominable conduct 
of cardinal de Bohan and pere Tellier in preventing the 
king, in his dying moments, from according a reconcili- 
atory interview to cardinal de Noailles, who had incurred 
madame de Maintenon’s displeasure for his leadership 
of the anti- Jesuit party in the G-allican church. 

“You must allow for a little spite, my dear M. de 
bToailles,” remarked the comtesse, who was passing. “Do 
not they say that the king last Friday positively refused to 
accept pere Tellier’s nominees for the vacant bishoprics 
and benefices ?” 

“It is quite true,” replied Berwick. “He said he had 
quite enough burdens on his conscience without incurring 


1 6 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

any fresh ones — at least, that is the report. I think Fa- 
gon’ s assistant set it going, but Marechal confirms it.” 

MM. Fagon and Marechal were respectively the king’s 
first physician and first surgeon. 

“Fagon and Marechal are at daggers drawn,” said de 
Noailles. “It appears Marechal has already told madame 
de Maintenon that in his opinion the king is being wrongly 
treated.” 

“Fagon is really insufferable,” said Berwick. “But if 
Marechal has any ground for what he says, it is excess- 
ively unfortunate — especially for the chevalier de St. 
George.” 

Here the duke caught sight of a tall man entering the 
opposite doorway. He immediately turned his back, and 
rambled off, looking very gloomy. As a matter of fact, 
the impending death of Louis XIV., if followed by an 
Orleans regency, promised to be a disaster of the first mag- 
nitude to the cause of the Pretender. 

The newcomer just referred to — the earl of Stair — was 
a Whig partisan of the most extreme type, and had been 
lately residing in Paris as political agent for George I/s 
government, ambassador in all but name, and a thorn in 
the side of the Jacobite refugees in France and Lorraine. 
His activity in unearthing the plans and movements of the 
Pretender’s adherents was a source of infinite worry to the 
foreign secretary, M. de Torcy, to whom he every day com- 
plained of some violation of obligations of asylum by the 
chevalier de St. George ; while Bolingbroke, who now acted 
as secretary of state to the chevalier, was continually puz- 
zled to imagine where the earl got his information. 

Behind lord Stair was the due d’Orleans, who came for- 
ward to meet the comtesse as she crossed the room. 

“Madame,” said the duke, with empressement, “permit 
me to make known to you milord Stair, who has asked for 
the honor of an introduction. I have told him that as a 
politician you are a furious Jacobite, and as a woman the 
most cruel of your sex.” 

Lord Stair and the comtesse exchanged profound salu- 
tations. 

“If that is the case, madame,” said the earl, “it is lucky 
for king George that there is only one comtesse de Valin- 
cour.” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


17 

“M. le due gives me a character which, somehow, I fail 
to recognize,” said the comtesse, with a smile that ravished 
the heart of the ambassador. “I think he is annoyed that 
you in England did not offer the crown to him instead of 
to king George.” 

“That had not occurred to me before,” said the duke. 
“But, now that you mention it, I certainly find it a griev- 
ance. As M. le chevalier de St. George — with whom M. 
de Stair is dissatisfied — and myself are both great-grand- 
sons of Henri Quatre, I decidedly think the English might 
have given me the refusal, if it was only to annoy those 
people at Versailles — instead of going round by way of 
Hanover and Bohemia ‘to find a claimant. You may con- 
sider you have lost a dukedom by this oversight on the part 
of your government, monsieur.” 

The earl attended with his ears to the duke, and with 
eyes of unbounded admiration to the comtesse. 

“As that honor would unfortunately have deprived me 
of the privilege of presenting myself to-night to madame la 
comtesse,” he replied, “I only regret the existing arrange- 
ments on M. le due’s account.” 

“That is very good of you, milord/ said d’Orleans. “If 
I do not find myself in the Bastille before the week is out, 
we must really see about that dukedom for you — on one 
side of the Channel or the other.” 

Lord Stair, whose peerage was hardly a dozen years old, 
bowed with a good deal of gratification, and reflected in- 
wardly that they did not by any means say such pleasant 
things to him at Versailles. The duke gave a meaning 
glance over the earl’s shoulder to madame de Valincour, 
who nodded imperceptibly, and said, 

“I should like to introduce M. de Stair to a lady who 
has been his next-door neighbor ever since she was born — 
madame Rene de Lavalaye, by the window yonder.” 

“I think I have met M. de Lavalaye at M. de Torcy’s.” 

“His wife lived in sight of England till her marriage. 
Her father, sitting next to her, is the governor of Calais. 
Come with me.” 

The comtesse crossed the room with lord Stair to the 
place where madame de Lavalaye, looking very plump and 
pretty, was sitting with M. Daguerre. The duke followed 
negligently, watched the ceremony of introduction, and 


18 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

placed himself within reach of the comtesse as she turned 
away. 

“I think I will return to Versailles now, comtesse,” he 
said, adding in a tone inaudible to those around, 

“Dubois is waiting to see you.” 

The comtesse swept a farewell curtsy, and replied in the 
same tone, 

“As soon as I am free.” 

“Still inexorable, comtesse?” whispered the duke. 

“Let us see first about the Bastille,- M. le due, as you 
remarked just now,” replied the comtesse. 

The duke smiled serenely, bowed again, and went off with 
M. de Simiane. 

When the comtesse saw that all her expected guests had 
arrived, and were so immersed in gossip that her tempo- 
rary absence would pass unnoticed, she left the salon and 
made her way to a little cabinet in a distant part of the 
house. Here the abbe Dubois was seated before a table and 
desk, busy with a bundle of foreign letters. 

“Pardon my keeping you waiting, abbe,” she said. “I 
could not slip away before. Have you any news?” 

“Did the duke tell you anything?” 

“No.” 

“Then I have some news.” 

“Let us hear it.” 

“At dinner to-day — or what passes for dinner, for he ate 
nothing — the king said to several of the entrees * around 
his bed, ‘Follow the orders my nephew will give you. He 
is to govern the kingdom ; I hope he will govern it well/ ” 

“That confirms what he told M. le due yesterday.” 

“Yes — as far as that goes.” 

“Does it not go far enough ?” 

“I am afraid not. He said this to-day just after he had 
received cardinals de Rohan and de Bissy.” 

“What of that?” 

“He made his remark to M. d’Orleans yesterday — about 
the will — just after he had received de Rohan and pere 
Tellier.” 

“And after receiving the sacrament also.” 

* Courtiers who had the right of waiting upon the king in his 
bedroom. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


i9 


"That is the worst part of the affair.” 

The comtesse, wha was extremely devout, looked very 
much shocked. 

"M. l’abbe,” she said, "at such a juncture his majesty 
would surely be speaking the simple truth.” 

"Unless he wanted to lie more impressively than usual/’ 
replied the abbe. 

"Abbe, you are incorrigible.” 

"Madame, guess what the king was doing with M. Vov- 
sin yesterday, just after taking the sacrament, and just be- 
fore seeing M. d’Orleans.” 

"Tell me.” 

"He was signing a codicil to his will, placing the liberty 
and life of M. d’ Orleans, and of everybody else, at the ab- 
solute mercy of M. du Maine.” 

"Impossible !” 

"There is no doubt of the matter.” 

"How did you come to know of it?” 

"To-day M. Voysin himself came in fear and trembling 
to the duke, and told him of it in confidence. M. Voysin 
is not heroic, you will observe, and wants a soft place to 
fall on, if by any chance the Maintenon plot miscarries. 
She made him draw up the codicil and brought him to the 
king with it.” 

"Eeally, these people are atrocious. What are the actual 
provisions of the codicil?” 

"Briefly, the uivil and military household of the new 
king, including all the troops which may be at any time in 
or around Paris-and Versailles, are to be the sole affair of 
M. du Maine. Marechal Villeroi, who is to be in nominal 
command of the troops, will also he charged, under M. du 
Maine, with the personal care and education of the king.” 

"But that is absolute dictatorship !” cried the comtesse. 

"I said as much just now.” 

"It puts the duke in a frightful position. What does he 
say about it?” 

"Madame,” replied the abbe savagely, "one might as 
well ask a two months’ baby its ideas about the other side 
of the moon. All one can get out of him is, ‘My good Du- 
bois, there is absolutely nothing to make a fuss about !’ ” 

"Does that mean that he has a plan ?” 

"Hot he. And he will listen to nothing from anyone 


20 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

else. There was a sort of council of war at the Palais- 
Royal just before he came here to your reception — MM. de 
St. Simon, de Canillac, d’Argenson, major Contades of the 
Guards, and lieutenant Mirepoix of the Black Musketeers. 
All were unanimous in urging M. d’Orleans to protect 
himself without an instant’s delay, by summoning the 
household troops to the Palais-Royal, placing himself at 
their head, and assuming the regency at the moment of 
the king’s death, under the fundamental laws of the mon- 
archy.” 

“Could the regiments be depended on?” 

“Contades answered for the due de Charost and his 
Guards, who are all noble and hate the legitimes like poi- 
son. The Musketeers have a few proteges of madame de 
Maintenon amongst them, but the king once dead they 
would be practically solid for the duke.” 

“And his answer?” 

“Sangdieu! always the same — ‘Gentlemen, don’t worry 
yourselves. You may accept my assurance that there will 
be no occasion whatever for your very obliging proposals/ 
What is one to do with a man like that?” 

The abbe got up and walked restlessly about the room, 
while the comtesse knitted her brows and stared at the 
desk before her. 

“Has madame de Ventadour any news?” she asked. “I 
have not seen her for a couple of days.” 

“Nothing of consequence. She took in the dauphin to 
see the king this afternoon. De Tresmes made a terrible 
slip in announcing them, spoke of the ‘little king,’ and 
nearly boggled himself into a fit trying to cover it. But 
the king only said, ‘Why not? — why not? — ’ That was 
all.” 

The comtesse cogitated for some moments in silence, 
while the abbe seated himself again, and made some cal- 
culations on a piece of paper. Then madame de Yalincour 
looked up and asked, 

“Have you anything to propose, abbe ?” 

“Nothing — unless you can fascinate M. de Bernaville at 
the Bastille. That will serve for the early stages; after- 
wards it may be a question of doing the amiable to M. 
Charles Sanson de Longval.” 

“Who is he?” 


A Dead Mans Shoes 21 

“Our worthy executioner to the city of Paris.” 

The comtesse made a little gesture of horrified disgust. 

“You do not think they are ready to go as far as that?” 
she asked. 

“If M. du Maine is not ready, both la Scarron and pere 
Tellier are. Unfortunately, that triple idiot St. Simon has 
set the peers and the parliament by the ears, with his pre- 
posterous fuss about the hat question, and the legal mem- 
bers may go with the Maine party just to spite St. Simon. 
But of course the peers and the princes of the blood will 
support M. d’ Orleans. M. du Maine seems to realize that 
acutely, judging from what he said the other day.” 

“What was that?” 

“I apologize beforehand for his style, which certainly 
lacks elegance. Madame de Berri told him the princes had 
just as great an objection to ranking before him as the 
peers had to ranking behind him. He replied, 4 Yes; I am 
like a louse between two thumb-nails/ ” 

“There is a modest candor about that which is rather 
pleasing.” 

“One can afford a good deal of modest candor if one is 
going to be regent and dictator. Unfortunately, madame, 
if the thumb-nails are as easily pleased as you are, the 
louse will have me broken on the wheel one of these fine 
mornings, for some excellent reason or another.” 

“If things come to the worst, abbe, I will keep you out 
of sight in my cellar — till we can both go to Bar-le-duc.” 

Bar-le-duc was a small town in Lorraine, which had been 
for some time past the headquarters of the Pretender. The 
abbe looked up sharply at the mention of the name. 

“Bar-le-duc, madame ? You do not expect that egg ever 
to be hatched, surely?” 

“Why not?” 

“They can do nothing unaided. And the king has abso- 
lutely refused both money and men, although he would not 
object to furnishing arms and a ship or two, on the quiet. 
M. d’Orleans will refuse everything, if by any chance he 
gets the regency; on what else have we been insisting the 
last two years?” 

“It is not a question of the king, or of M. d’Orleans ; it 
is a question of M. du Maine. It is perfectly certain that 
the Maintenon party will go as far as they dare to further 


22 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

a Catholic restoration in Great Britain, if the regency 
comes into their hands/' 

“That is possible, I admit/' 

“Evidently, then, abbe, whenever the door is shut against 
us at the Palais-Royal, it is opened to us at Bar-le-duc." 

“To you, madame, if you like — since you happen to be at 
once a beautiful woman and a devote. But the kind of 
door they will open for me, whom they style a pagan, is a 
little door which opens downwards and is called a drop, 
and which I should find very disagreeable." 

“Your modesty is quite touching, abbe. Let me assure 
you that an army of pagans would be received with open 
arms at Bar-le-duc, if they were ready to install the few 
necessary Christians at St. James’s." 

The abbe shrugged his shoulders. 

“Madame, you cannot help folks who will not help them- 
selves. These people have no backbone. Take lord Or- 
monde. Nothing was more distinctly understood than 
that the moment his liberty was threatened under the im- 
peachment, he was to hasten to the west of England and 
organize a strong rising among the numerous Jacobites of 
those counties. What happens ? He hears a report that a 
corporal’s guard is coming to his house at Richmond, and 
behold ! he straightway turns up in Paris, a useless fugi- 
tive instead of an insurrectionary leader." 

“All the better for us. But go on." 

“Then M. de Berwick, ever since they bungled the suc- 
cession in England so deplorably, has done nothing but 
protest to the English Jacobites that it is useless for the 
chevalier to make a move unless a strong body in England 
is actually ready to take the field, because Scotland is too 
weak to be relied on for an invading force." 

“He is quite right, as matters stand. But I think they 
have special reasons for expecting assistance, French or 
English, under a regency." 

“Why do you think so?" 

“Because they have made a move — or rather, the chev- 
alier has." 

“I shall believe that when I see it, madame." 

The comtesse opened the desk in front of her, unlocked 
a drawer, and took out a letter. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


23 

“I received this to-day,” she said, handing it to the 
abbe. “Perhaps it may assist your faith a little.” 

Dubois opened the letter, which was from the abbe Gaul- 
tier, and read: 

“Chateau of Bar-le-duc. 

“August 23rd , 1715. 

“My dear Yvonne: 

“I told you in my last that father Calaghan had arrived 
from London with a message from lord Ormonde, pro- 
posing an immediate descent on the south coast, and rec- 
ommending the chevalier to set out at once for Havre. 
Since then, lord Bolingbroke laid Ormonde’s proposal 
before M. de Torcy, and it appears that the king, after 
consulting with the duke of Berwick, opposed the scheme 
as too hazardous. 

“M. de Berwick then applied for help to the king of 
Sweden, suggesting that the eight thousand troops as- 
sembled at Gothenburg should be sent to England in trans- 
ports from Strahlsund — a matter of forty-eight hours 
only. The king of France was willing, if Charles XII. 
agreed, to pay up the arrears of subsidies due to Sweden, 
and the chevalier was to pay 50,000 crowns towards the 
costs of the expedition. 

“Yesterday we received the king of Sweden’s reply, de- 
clining the proposal, as he is himself besieged both by 
land and sea at Strahlsund, and cannot further weaken 
his forces. 

“However, the king of Spain has promised us 400,000 
crowns, and the first 100,000 of these are now at sea on 
their way to "Scotland. We have also four ships and 
10,000 stand of arms hidden at Havre. 

“The chevalier is very much disappointed and annoyed 
at lord Ormonde’s unexpected flight from England, and 
fears that this makes it useless to think of a direct descent 
upon the- south coast. He has therefore decided definitely 
to try Scotland, and has this day written to lord Mar to 
leave London for the Firth of Forth at once with lieu- 
tenant-general Hamilton, and raise the royal standard at 
Braemar. 

“This step has been kept absolutely secret from every- 
body, even MM. Bolingbroke and de Berwick, and I owe 
the information to the fact that mistress Fanny Oglethorpe 


24 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

was not at hand to-night, as -usual, to prevent the chev- 
alier from getting drunk. Be, therefore, very discreet 
about this. Armand Gaultier.” 

The abbe Dubois read this letter very carefully, and 
returned it to the comtesse. 

“That is extremely important,” he remarked seriously. 
“Permit m£ to observe that your brother seems to have 
managed matters very well there.” 

“I think so. One thing seems quite clear — that the J ac- 
obites have no real leader.” 

“Hence our own utility, you imagine?” 

“I presume you would not object to be secretary of state 
in England, abbe?” 

“It would be curious, if, for the first time, there was a 
queen Yvonne over there, would it not, comtesse?” 

The comtesse rose, with a slight smile on her lips. 

“A propos ” she said, “do you know anything of this 
Oglethorpe ?” 

“I have seen her. A good sort of soul. You need not 
trouble yourself about her.” 

“Then it is quite understood, abbe ?” 

“Quite, comtesse. If the duke weathers the storm, we 
are allies in Paris. If he goes under, we are allies — wher- 
ever a crown is to be picked up.” 

“Adieu, abbe.” 

“Adieu, your majesty of some day or other.” 

The abbe opened a side-door leading out of the cabinet, 
nodded, and disappeared. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


25 


CHAPTER III. 

THE SETTING OF THE SUN. 

T HE following day the king was found to be much 
worse. The gangrene of his foot and knee had 
spread, and the doctors confessed themselves at 
the end of their resources. Dr. Fagon, the chief physician 
to the king, was, if possible, more irritable and brutal 
than ever; and the courtiers continued to infer from this 
that they must on no account neglect to be seen at the 
due d’Orleans’ rooms as much as possible. 

On the Wednesday morning the king was no better, and 
it was mentioned that he could eat nothing. This news 
spread instantly among the courtiers, who thronged the 
great Galerie des Miroirs even at an early hour. 

The king’s bedroom adjoined this gallery. In an ante- 
chamber on one side of the bedroom were the pharmacists, 
who prepared and warmed what was ordered by the med- 
ical men, together with the royal valets who were not 
actually engaged with the king. Between the bedroom and 
the gallery were the cabinets with glass doors in which 
waited the princes of the blood, the king’s daughters (the 
princesse de Conti and the duchesses d’Orleans and de 
Bourbon-Conde, children of Louise de la Valliere and ma- 
dame de Montespan), the ministers, the secretaries of 
state, and the entrees. The inner room, called the cabinet 
du conseil, was used only by the due d’Orleans, marechal 
Villars, the chancellor, pere Tellier, and the cure of Ver- 
sailles. 

About nine o’clock in the morning M. d’Orleans ap- 
peared on one of his studiously regulated visits; that is to 
say, he was ushered by the due de Tresmes, first gentleman 
of the bedchamber, to the doorway between the cabinet du 
conseil and the bedroom, where the king could see him as 
he lay in bed. On this occasion his majesty merely ac- 
knowledged his salutation and made no remark. Shortly 


26 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

afterwards the duchesse d’ Orleans and her daughter, the 
dnchesse de Berri, saw the king for the first time for sev- 
eral days. Then Dr. Fagon roughly intimated that the 
king’s strength must not be taxed any further. 

An hour later M. Marechal, the king’s chief surgeon, 
entered the salon of the due d" Orleans, and asked to speak 
with him. The duke took him aside, and inquired what 
was the matter. 

“M. le due,” 'said the surgeon, “we want your good 
offices with M. Fagon. A rather curious thing has hap- 
pened.” 

“What ! has he been decently civil to somebody ?” asked 
the duke. 

“M. le due, a man has just come to the palace who pro- 
fesses to be able to cure the king, or at least to effect a 
considerable improvement.” 

“Who is he?” 

“He calls himself Lebrun.” 

“A physician ?” 

“Hot at all. He seems to be a peasant, and is on his 
way from Marseilles to Paris. But he claims to have an 
elixir, with which he has made wonderful cures, and he 
insists on the king giving it a trial. It appears he has 
heard that the doctors can do nothing more than they have 
done. I should like you to see him. There is no doubt he 
is quite serious.” 

“By all means,” said the duke. 

He put on his hat and went out with the surgeon. Ten 
minutes later the pair entered the great gallery, bringing 
with them a person upon whom the eyes of the courtiers 
were immediately fixed in amazement. He was a white- 
haired but vigorous-looking man of middle height, with 
broad shoulders, bull head, and Herculean limbs, and was 
dressed as a farm-laborer of the South. His massive 
and well-cut Provengal features expressed a good deal of 
quiet self-reliance, and he looked round upon the glitter- 
ing throng with entire nonchalance of manner. 

The three went forward into the ante-chamber where the 
pharmacists had their stove and dispensing apparatus, and 
where M. Pernault, the usher of the ante-chamber, was at 
the moment waiting for the dressings for the king’s foot. 
Here also was M. de Tresmes, and to him the due d ? Orleans 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


27 

whispered a few words, at which M. de Tresmes looked 
immeasurably astonished. 

“M. Fagon will never listen to it,” he said. 

“Where is M. Fagon just now?” 

“He has gone away for a few minutes.” 

“All the better,” said the duke. “How is your oppor- 
tunity.” 

“But what can one do, M. le due?” 

“That is your affair, my dear M. de Tresmes. If you 
choose to assume the responsibility of doing nothing, the 
blame will, at all events, not rest with me.” 

“But it is unheard-of,” murmured de Tresmes. 

The duke shrugged his shoulders. 

“I should have imagined that his majesty was entitled 
to a voice in the matter,” he said. 

“Then you advise me to inform the king?” 

“I? Hot at all. I never advise anybody. Only, if this 
worthy fellow is not wanted here, let us send him away. 
It will be interesting to hear what story he will tell about 
us all outside.” 

“Good Lord !” ejaculated de Tresmes uneasily. 

“I told him I should leave the affair in your hands,” 
explained the duke pleasantly; “otherwise, you see, the 
good people in Paris might fancy it was I who wished to 
prevent his majesty from recovering.” 

This remark put an end to M. de Tresmes’ hesitation. 

“I will tell the king at once,” he said. “But you must 
explain to M. Fagon — he may be back any moment.” 

“Pooh !” replied the duke. “M. Fagon will not try to 
eat me. He knows I should disagree with him.” 

The first gentleman disappeared into the bedroom, and 
there was a pause of a minute or two, during which the 
attendants looked at the peasant with curiosity. M. Per- 
nault received from the chief pharmacist a fresh set of 
dressings, and followed de Tresmes into the bedroom. 

A moment later M. de Tresmes returned, and whispered 
in the ear of M. d’Orleans, 

“His majesty wishes to see him.” 

The duke went up to the peasant, and said, 

“My good friend, follow this gentleman; he will take 
you to the king.” 

The peasant made a salute which was not without a cer- 


28 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

tain dignity, and walked after de Tresmes into the bed- 
room, the door of which closed behind them. Seeing the 
king lying in bed, the peasant knelt down, and clasped his 
hands over his heart. 

“Get np, my friend,” said the king, in a feeble voice. 
“What have you to say to me ? Come a little nearer.” 

The peasant rose, and approached the bedside. 

“Sire,” he said, “I have a very good medicine, which 
has cured many people in my country, and I came to offer 
it to your majesty.” 

“What is your country, my friend?” 

“I am from Marseilles, your majesty.” 

“And your name ?” 

“Lebrun, your majesty.” 

The king looked at Lebrun thoughtfully for a moment 
or two, and then turned to Pernault, who stood waiting at 
the other side of the bed. 

“Go on, M. Pernault,” said the king; “and M. Lebrun 
can judge for himself.” 

Pernault turned back the bedclothes, and uncovered the 
king’s foot to dress it. The limb was gangrened from the 
ankle to above the knee, and violently inflamed. Lebrun 
stooped over, and examined the affected part with a serious 
countenance. 

“I am afraid I am beyond your skill, M. Lebrun,” said 
the king, with a good-natured smile. 

“That leg looks bad, certainly,” replied Lebrun, with- 
out any ceremony. “But I have seen as bad. Unfortu- 
nately, your majesty is no chicken.” 

Pernault nearly dropped his bandage at this remark. 
But the king only smiled again. 

“That is true,” he said. “If I live another week, I shall 
be seventy-seven.” 

“I am eighty,” replied Lebrun simply. 

“Evidently you may live to see my little great-grandson 
married,” said the king. “But if you had been a king ever 
since you were five years old, my 'friend, I doubt whether 
you would have managed quite so well.” 

The peasant made no reply, but watched in silence while 
Pernault applied the bandages. 

“Well, M. Lebrun, what can you do for me?” asked 
Louis, after a pause. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


29 


“I beg your majesty to take a dose or two of my medi- 
cine,” replied Lebrun, taking a little bottle out of the 
breast-pocket of his blouse. “Certainly your majesty is 
very ill; but I have known it do wonders with people as 
bad or worse.” 

The king nodded, and made a sign to Pernault. 

“My friend,” he said to Lebrun, “I thank you for your 
goodwill, and the trouble you have taken for me. Go with 
this gentleman to the pharmacists in the ante-room, and 
explain to them what is to be done.” 

“God bless and restore your majesty !” said the peasant, 
kneeling by the bedside. 

The king put his hand on the peasant’s head for a mo- 
ment, instead of giving it to him to kiss. 

“Adieu, my good friend,” he said gently. 

The peasant seized the king’s hand, kissed it hastily, and 
went out in silence with Pernault. As soon as he was in 
the ante-chamber, and the door of the king’s room closed 
behind him, he said to the assistants, who were looking at 
him open-mouthed, 

“Which of you is the apothecary?” 

The principal pharmacist came forward, and asked if he 
could be of service. 

“Give me some Alicante wine,” said Lebrun. 

An assistant handed him a flask, and he poured a large 
spoonful of wine into a silver ladle, which he took from the 
plate-basket lying at hand. This he heated over a flame of 
alcohol kept burning on the dresser, and as soon as it be- 
gan to steam he poured into the ladle ten drops of a thick 
liquid from 'his little bottle. After mixing the elixir thor- 
oughly with the contents of the ladle, he asked for a cup 
half full of wine, and poured the hot wine into the cold. 

At this moment the outer door of the ante-chamber was 
flung violently open, and an under-sized man, with a very 
red face and a bullying expression of countenance, bounced 
into the room. This was Dr. Fagon, chief physician to the 
king. 

“Where is this infernal quack?” he asked angrily, not 
noticing Lebrun, who had his back to the door. 

The due d’Orleans came forward and placed himself be- 
tween the doctor and the peasant. 

“Hush! my dear M. Fagon,” he said suavely. “Your 


30 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

new colleague is present. Permit me to introduce you to 
M. Lebrun, who seems to have impressed his majesty very 
favorably.” 

Fagon glared suspiciously from the duke to the assist- 
ants, and then caught sight of Lebrun, wl^o had just fin- 
ished mixing his dose. 

“What is all this nonsense?” he snarled to the chief 
pharmacist, as he snatched up the empty ladle, sniffed it 
contemptuously, and jerked his head towards the peasant. 

The pharmacist judiciously held his peace, and the doc- 
tor turned to Lebrun. 

“We are not to be fooled here with your filthy rubbish, 
monsieur,” he said brutally. 

The peasant took no notice of the doctor, but put the 
cup of medicated wine upon the dresser. Fagon turned 
purple in the face, and shook the peasant roughly by the 
arm. 

“Do you hear, monsieur?” he growled. “This is not a 
place for clowns to sell poison in.” 

Lebrun made a slight movement of his arm, without 
taking the trouble to turn round. The doctor was sent 
reeling across the room till his foot caught against a chair, 
and he fell in a heap under a table. Marechal went to pick 
him up, with an obtrusive excess of politeness, and the 
assistants turned their backs to conceal their chuckles. 

Lebrun meanwhile handed the chief pharmacist his bot- 
tle, and said, 

“Let the king take that cupful of wine now. Three 
times a day mix a dose of ten drops, as you saw me do, in 
the same wine.” 

The pharmacist took the bottle, and Lebrun knelt down, 
facing the king’s door. He crossed himself and muttered 
some words of a prayer, watched by the wondering by- 
standers. Then he rose, picked up his hat, bowed to the 
due d’Orleans, and went towards the outer door. 

On his way he was intercepted by Fagon, now more furi- 
ous than ever. 

“You miserable scoundrel!” roared the doctor, “I will 
have you flogged at the cart’s tail. Do you know whom 
you have assaulted ?” 

Lebrun looked at him with an impassive face. 

“Ho,” he replied. 











































































* 






% 




* • 




• 5 . 




• • 





A Dead Man’s Shoes 


3i 

“I am his majesty's chief physician," said Fagon, strad- 
dling in front of the peasant with a bullying air. 

“Ah !" remarked Lebrun seriously. “No wonder the 
poor king is dying." 

He put forth his arm, brushed Fagon out of the way as 
if he had been a fly, and disappeared through the doorway 
into the gallery. Marechal followed, to escort him out of 
the palace, and the strange visitor departed, to be seen 
no more. 

It was now eleven o'clock. The king took Lebrun's 
mixture, despite the splenetic remonstrances of Fagon, and 
felt better. In the afternoon he became worse again, and 
the dose was repeated at four o'clock. 

About this time madame de Maintenon came into the 
king's room to make one of her routine visits. These had 
considerably diminished in frequency since matters in 
church and state had been finally settled to her satisfac- 
tion by the repulse of cardinal de Noailles and the sign- 
ing of the codicil, and. she now took very little pains to 
conceal the fact that she found the king's dilatoriness in 
dying to be rather a nuisance. Lebrun’s visit was spoken 
of, but the king remarked that he saw himself no chance 
of recovery. 

“Sire, it is our duty never to abandon hope," said the 
marquise in reply. 

“In my condition," said the king, “to hope would be 
wilfully to deceive myself. But when I think of our in- 
evitable parting, marquise, I am consoled by the reflection 
that it cannot be for very long. At our age, we must soon 
again be reunited." 

The marquise, although older than the king,* had no in- 
dention of dying for a good while yet, and found his phi- 
losophy in very bad taste. She terminated the conversa- 
tion in high dudgeon, and went away from Versailles to 
await the ne^ws of the king's death in her institution for 
young noblewomen at St. Cyr. 

The next morning the king was reported to be a little 
better. This news reached the rooms of the due d'Orleans 
as the customary crowds of courtiers were collecting to pay 
their respects to the duke. It produced a good deal of un- 

* Frangoise d’ Aubigny was born November 27, 1635, in the 
gaol of Niort, where her father had been imprisoned for debt. 


32 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

easiness, and a decided tendency was shown to hang about 
the doorways, through which retreat, if called for, would 
be easy. 

At ten o’clock, when the duke usually put in an appear- 
ance, a rumor was suddenly circulated amongst the groups 
in his salons. Whispers, first of incredulity, and then of 
alarm, were heard on all sides, and the rooms thinned rap- 
idly. A second report was bruited around, a regular stam- 
pede followed, and the courtiers nearly fell over each other 
in their haste to escape from the compromising precincts. 

As the last retreating coat-tails fluttered around the 'por- 
tieres of the doorways, the duke, attended by his first gen- 
tleman of the bedchamber, M. de Conflans, entered from 
his private room, and looked around the deserted salon 
with a sardonic smile. 

“Evidently we are not the only ones to hear the news, 
my dear de Conflans,” he remarked, seating himself in an 
easy-chair by the window. “Ah, here is St. Simon.” 

The due de St. Simon entered as he spoke, and looked 
round him in amazement. 

“Good morning, M. le due,” he said, as he came for- 
ward. “What on earth has happened? Where is every- 
body ?” 

“Have yon not heard the news ?” asked the duke. 

“What news?” 

“It appears the king is doing finely. He has eaten two 
little biscuits, steeped in wine, with quite an appetite.” 

“Really?” 

“Hence our present solitude. It is quite evident that if 
his majesty makes a decent lunch, I shall have to black my 
own boots.” 

St. Simon turned to de Conflans inquiringly. 

“It is perfectly true, M. le due,” replied de Conflans. 

St. Simon made a face of disgust, and helped himself to 
snuff. 

“What a crew!” he muttered, under his breath. 

“Between ourselves,” remarked the duke, “I think our 
friends alarm themselves needlessly. The rats are usually 
pretty safe guides.” 

“What do you mean, M. le due?” 

“Has not the marquise retired to St. Cyr?” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


33 

“That is true. They must be very confident amongst 
themselves, M. le due?” 

“Good Lord ! let them be confident, if it amuses them. 
It costs nothing, which cannot be said of all amusements.” 

St. Simon looked as if he by no means shared the duke’s 
optimism, but he did not see his way to disturb it. Event- 
ually he went off to pick up the latest gossip, while the 
duke made his way to the rooms of madame de Ventadour 
and the little dauphin, in the hope of finding the comtesse 
de Valincour there. 

In the afternoon the duke went to pay his daily visit to 
the king in his bedroom. Passing through the great gal- 
lery, he found M. du Maine hilariously describing the Le- 
brun episode for the benefit of two or three of the cour- 
tiers, who had only just arrived from his house at Sceaux, 
and had thus missed Dr. Fagon’s discomfiture. Immense 
amusement accompanied the story, and this became more 
noisy and unrestrained as it proceeded. The sound of M. 
du Maine’s voice penetrated into the bedroom when the 
door was opened to admit the due d’Orleans, and the king 
looked up with a disturbed expression. At that moment 
the outer door of the cabinet du conseil happened to be 
also opened, and a yell of laughter from the due du Maine 
in the gallery echoed through the intervening rooms. The 
king’s ashen face flushed angrily. 

“Who is it that finds things so amusing here ?” he asked, 
with more vigor than he had displayed for a week pre- 
viously. 

The duke maintained a nonchalant silence, and pere 
Tellier, who was standing at the other side of the bed, 
looked very uncomfortable. 

“I believe I asked a question,” said the king, with a 
flash of his old hauteur, and turning his head towards 
pere Tellier. 

“I did not recognize the voice, sire,” replied the con- 
fessor circumspectly. 

“Was it not M. du Maine?” asked the king querulously. 

Pere Tellier hesitated for a moment, and then, catching 
the contemptuous stare of the duke fixed upon him, replied 
with some little confusion, 

“Possibly you are right, sire.” 


34 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The king’s head fell upon his breast, and he seemed 
deeply hurt at the incident. Then he asked, after a pause, 

“Where is the marquise?” 

Again the duke kept silence, and again the confessor was 
at a nonplus. 

“Am I to ask every question twice ?” demanded the king, 
with a trembling voice. 

“I will inquire, your majesty,” replied the confessor 
hurriedly, and making a move to leave the room. 

“I do not think that is necessary, mon pere,” put in the 
duke, who did not feel disposed to let the confessor escape. 
“If madame la marquise had returned from St. Cyr, she 
would no doubt have let you know.” 

“St. Cyr !” ejaculated the king, with pained surprise. 

“Pere Tellier has then omitted to tell your majesty that 
madame la marquise took her departure yesterday ?” asked 
the duke remorselessly. 

The king’s flush died away, and he became paler than 
before. He looked unutterable things at the confessor, 
and sank back with closed eyes upon his pillow. A min- 
ute’s silence followed, and then he said, in almost inaudible 
tones,, 

“Leave me, mon pere, and let the marquise he sent for.” 

The confessor was glad to make his escape ; and the duke, 
after summoning the king’s valet, M. Bloin, retired silently 
by way of the cabinet du conseil. 

In the gallery the due du Maine was wiping from his 
eyes the tears caused by the excess of his laughter at the 
reminiscence of Dr. Fagon and Lebrun, and most of the 
courtiers around were following his example. The duke 
bowed pleasantly to M. du Maine. 

“His majesty was good enough to inquire after madame 
la marquise just now,” he said, in passing. 

“Ah!” said du Maine, with cheerful insouciance, and 
eyeing the duke with a triumphant smile, “I suppose that 
is not of very much consequence.” 

“I suppose not,” replied the duke negligently. “The 
marquise might have been interested in this question of a 
new codicil, perhaps. But that is not my affair, of course. 
I have the honor to ” 

M. du Maine interrupted the duke in a paroxysm of sud- 
den terror. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


35 

“Good heavens ! M. le due;” he asked, with his knees 
shaking, “what are you saying ? A new codicil ?” 

“Parbleu! have you not heard of it?” said the duke, 
disengaging himself, and passing onward. 

Du Maine fell on a couch speechless, and a whisper ran 
round amongst the courtiers. St. Simon, who had come 
up in time to hear the last few sentences, followed the duke 
out of the gallery. 

“Is that really true, M. le due?” he asked eagerly, as 
soon as they were out of hearing. 

“What?” 

“About a new codicil?” 

“Not in the least,” replied the duke. “But it is amusing 
to scare ces miserables 

“Ah !” said St. Simon, rather disappointed. 

Madame de Maintenon, having learnt of the king’s in- 
quiry after her, came back to Versailles during the evening 
of this day, Thursday, August 29th. But the following 
evening, the king having become delirious, she took her de- 
parture a second time (after having distributed her furni- 
ture amongst her domestics), and retired finally to St. Cyr. 

Omthe ensuing day the king was unconscious, the gan- 
grene spread rapidly, and the prayers for the dying were 
recited. 

The next morning, at half-past seven o’clock, the little 
dauphin, with madame de Ventadour, the princes of the 
blood (MM. d’ Orleans, de Bourbon-Conde, and de Conti), 
the duchesse d’ Orleans, the princesse de Conti, M. du 
Maine and his children, and M. de Toulouse were sum- 
moned by Fagon to the king’s room, and the doors were 
closed upon them. A great crowd of courtiers collected in 
the Galerie des Miroirs, near the door of the cabinet du 
conseil, and an unwonted silence reigned through the vast 
palace. 

At a quarter to eight M. de Tresmes passed through the 
cabinet, opened the glass door of the gallery, and an- 
nounced in sonorous tones to the expectant throng, 

“Le roi est mort! Vive le roi!” 

So Louis XIV. died, and the little due d’ Anjou, Louis 
XV., reigned in his stead. 


36 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER IV. 

A REMARKABLE PROPHECY. 

A FEW minutes after the king’s death had been an- 
nounced by M. de Tresmes, the due d’Orleans came 
out of the bedroom, and passed through the cabinet 
du conseil into the gallery. He met with a very guarded 
reception from the courtiers, amongst whom the codicil 
to the king’s will had in some way got wind, and who 
bowed to him with one eye on the look-out for the due du 
Maine. The duke noticed that no one seemed disposed 
to follow him to his rooms, where MM. de Simiane, de 
Canillac, and d’Argenson (lieutenant-general of police)' 
were already in waiting. But he had scarcely passed out 
of the gallery when a footstep behind him made him turn 
round, and he found himself confronted by the due de 
Charost, captain of the king’s Guards. 

“Ah ! M. de Charost,” said the duke cheerfully, “you 
wish to speak to me ?” 

“For a moment, M. le due.” 

“I am quite at your service.” 

“M. le due ” and the captain hesitated for a mo- 

ment. 

“Pooh ! no ceremony, my dear duke. M. du Maine has 
sent you to arrest me, I suppose?” 

“Not at all, monsieur. On the contrary 

“Well ?” 

M. de Charost looked cautiously round, and came close 
up to the duke. 

“I have come, M. le due,” he whispered, “to ask if you 
would like me to arrest M. du Maine.” 

The duke burst out laughing. 

“I? Good Lord! no,” he replied. “It is very good of 
you, my dear fellow. But why will you all persist in try- 
ing to make me look ridiculous ?” 

“Permit me to say, M. le due, that I think you underrate 
the danger of your position.” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


37 

“Would it make you more comfortable to feel assured 
there was no danger at all?” 

“Much more comfortable, M. le due.” 

“1 will make you as comfortable as you like in two min- 
utes, if you will’ come with me.” 

“I shall have great pleasure,” replied de Charost, looking 
rather puzzled, and following the duke into his salon. 

In this room the three gentlemen before mentioned were 
listening to the due de St. Simon, who had come in by 
another door, and was dilating upon some subject whicii 
seemed to be of the* deepest interest to him. 

“Ah !” he said excitedly, as the duke entered, “now, 
now, M. le due, we shall have the affair of le bonnet settled 
at last, I hope.” 

This question of u le bonnet ” was an old-standing bone 
of contention between St. Simon and certain ultra-punc- 
tilious peers on the one hand, and the “noblesse of the robe” 
oil the other — the peers insisting on the right of giving 
their votes in the parliament of Paris with their hats on, 
while the legal members contested the invidious privilege. 
Louis XIV. had shirked settling the difficulty, except in 
so far as he had decided that when the king himself was 
present the peers should enjoy their ordinary right to re- 
main covered. This compromise had satisfied nobody, and 
St. Simon had always busied himself at the head of the 
malcontent dukes. Now that a new order of things was 
about to begin, this profound statesman naturally jumped 
at the point which, as regards the affairs of the monarchy, 
appeared to him of the supremest importance. 

“Ah ! le bonnet ” repeated M. d’Orleans blandly. “Cer- 
tainly something must be done about that. But it is a lit- 
tle early yet, my dear St. Simon.” 

“M. le ducymow is the hour to strike a decisive blow. If 
this opportunity is lost, when can we expect a better one ?” 

“Probably you are right,” replied the duke. “Have you 
obtained M. du Maine’s promise of support, may I ask ?” 

St. Simon stared at the duke uncomprehendingly. 

“M. du Maine?” he echoed. “Of what can you be 
thinking, M. le due?” 

“Well, my dear friend, it is quite obvious that no one but 
the king can settle this affair to your satisfaction. There- 


38 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

fore you must secure the person who can secure the king — 
the regent, that is to say.” 

“M. du Maine regent !” 

“I think you will have no difficulty in getting him ap- 
pointed regent — if you insist on it.” 

St. Simon looked from the duke to the others as if a lit- 
tle doubtful about the former’s sanity. 

“Really, M. le due,” he said at length, “I confess I do 
not understand you.” 

“What is the difficulty ?” asked the duke. “Is not M. du 
Maine understood to be designated for'the regency by this 
codicil they talk about, and most probably by the will 
also?” 

“Without doubt.” 

“And to what authority can we look to upset this ar- 
rangement ?” 

“To begin with,” replied St. Simon promptly, “we must 
get the parliament of Paris on our side.” 

“Precisely. And you come to propose that I should 
make mortal enemies of two-thirds of the members. M. du 
Maine ought to be enormously -obliged to you.” 

St. Simon was quite silenced by this view of the case, 
and looked so crestfallen that the duke could hardly help 
laughing. 

“My dear fellow,” he went on, “you must really have a 
little mercy on us. It will be time to .talk about hats on 
our heads when w r e have no longer a rope round our 
necks.” 

Le Canillac looked unutterable reproaches at St. Simon. 

“It is imperative that the parliament should be kept in 
the best possible humor,” he said. 

“To re-open the quarrel at this juncture would, in my 
opinion, be fatal,” added d’Argenson. “What do vou 
think, M. de Charost?” 

“I don’t think — I know,” replied the captain of the 
Guards curtly. “Let us shout when we are out of the 
wood, if we are to shout at all.” 

The duke offered his snuff-box to St. Simon, and re- 
marked, in a considerate tone, 

“I think, mv dear friend, you have nothing to lose by 
waiting. Let the matter rest for a week.” 

“A week, M. le due?” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


39 


“Yes; that will give time for the king to attend at the 
registration of the vote which will be arrived at in the par- 
liament to-morrow, appointing me sole regent.” 

“What! M. le due!” 

“Will not that satisfy you?” 

“Then, M. le due,” broke in de Charost eagerly, “you 
agree to our taking active steps?” 

“What steps?” asked the duke. 

“To assemble the Guards, the Musketeers, and the gar- 
rison at once, and proclaim you regent under the laws of 
the kingdom ?” 

“And then ?” 

“Then you will take possession of the government and 
the person of the little king, and all will be settled.” 

The duke offered his snuff-box to the others. 

“That seems a good notion of Charost’s, gentlemen,” he 
remarked. “What do you say to it?” 

“It is the only proper course to take,” replied de Canil- 
lac promptly, with his finger and thumb in the box. 

“Assuredly,” assented the three others. 

“Then, M. le due,” went on the captain, “you agree to 
our plan?” 

The duke helped himself to a pinch of snuff and looked 
out of the window. 

“My dear de Charost,” he replied, “I should be very 
pleased to do what you suggest, if I had not a better plan.” 

“What is that, M. le due ?” 

“To do nothing at all.” 

The due de Charost looked, in his turn, as if he thought 
the duke was a little out of his mind. 

“Nothing at all, monsieur?” he echoed. 

“No. Why should I ? To-morrow I shall be regent, and 
nothing in earth or heaven can prevent it. Thus there is 
no occasion to take the slightest trouble in the matter.” 

The duke delivered his utterance with such unbounded 
confidence that his hearers stared at him in complete be- 
wilderment. 

“At the same time,” proceeded the duke, “I think it is 
due to you all I should give you the grounds for my con- 
viction, because, apart from those reasons, the course you 
suggest would probably be the wisest for me to follow. 
Come into my cabinet.” 


40 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The party followed the duke into his private room, and 
at a sign from him seated themselves to listen to the prom- 
ised explanation. 

“What I have to tell you, gentlemen,” began the duke, 
“is so incredible that you would be justified in refusing to 
believe it on any single man’s evidence, although I give you 
my word of honor, as a gentleman and a son of France, 
that it is all the simple truth. Fortunately M. de St. Si- 
mon will most likely be able to attest my story, as it was 
told to him at the time of its occurrence, and he will recol- 
lect enough to convince you of the exactitude of my own 
memory.” 

A sudden light seemed to come into St. Simon’s face. 

“I begin to understand now, M. le due,” he said. “I had 
forgotten that affair, I assure you.” 

“So I supposed,” replied the duke. “Well, gentlemen, 
just before I set out for the campaign in Italy in 1706, it 
happened one evening that we were making some experi- 
ments in clairvoyance at madame la comtesse d’Argenton’s 
house in Paris. The comtesse had found someone who 
certainly seemed to possess rather curious powers, and this 
man was present. He asked if we could provide a child, 
young and innocent, to assist in his operations. It hap- 
pened that there was a little girl of eight or nine who had 
been born in the house, had never lived out of it, and was 
just the person required. Our magician asked for a glass 
of water. Over this he mumbled something, and then told 
the child to look into it. Some of the guests then wished, 
one by one, to know what was happening in some distant 
place or other, and the little girl looked in the glass and 
described what she saw.” 

“I fancy I could do as much as that myself,” observed 
d’Argenson. 

“Wait a little, my dear fellow,” said the duke. “As we 
had all had a pretty considerable experience in impostors 
of various kinds, I thought of a simple test for this man. 
I asked the child to tell us what was going on at madame 
de Nancre’s house, a short distance oft. She at once de- 
scribed the people there, the sitters at the different card- 
tables, the bystanders, the furniture, everything in fact. 
M. de Nancre was with us, and I instantly packed him off 
to report as to what was actually doing in his house. He 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


4i 

came back, and said it was all absolutely as the child had 
described.” 

“Hm ! I confess that would require some little manage- 
ment,” admitted d’Argenson. 

“All that is only the beginning,” went on the duke. “It 
seemed promising, as you may suppose, and it occurred to 
me to ask if anything could be foreseen of the future. So 
I asked for a vision of the scene of the king’s death. The 
child knew nothing of Versailles, and had never seen any- 
one belonging to the court except myself.” 

“I think she knew madame de Ventadour,” corrected St. 
Simon. 

“Yes; but madame de Ventadour was not then at court,” 
replied the duke. 

“That is true.” 

“Well, gentlemen, this child looked in the glass of water 
and described what she saw. It was the king’s bedroom 
here, furnished as it is now and not as it was then, with 
the king in his bed, and the bystanders around. The child 
cried out at recognizing two of the persons who stood near 
the bed. One was myself; the other was madame de Ven- 
tadour, whom she used to see at madame d’Argenton’s, and 
whom she described as holding by the hand a little child 
with the Order.” 

“The due d’ Anjou, evidently,” said de Charost, aston- 
ished. 

“Who was not born till four years afterwards,” added de 
Canillac. 

“Exactly,” said the duke. “Then she made us recognize 
Fagon, my wife, the princesse de Conti, the present due de 
Bourbon-Conde, the present prince de Conti, M. du Maine, 
and M. de Toulouse — all of whom, as you are aware, were 
present at the king’s death this morning. Now I beg of 
you to observe, gentlemen, that in 1706 MM. du Maine and 
de Toulouse would have no right to be present at all ; they 
were not then legitimated, and not a word had ever been 
said about their legitimation.” 

“Still, such a thing might have been guessed,” put in 
d’Argenson. 

“Granted,” replied the duke. “But I defy you to say 
that anybody could guess what followed. Listen, gentle- 
men ! In spite of all my questions, and all sorts of 


42 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

promptings from the others, we could not get the child to 
recognize in her vision any one corresponding to Monseign- 
eur, to the due de Bourgogne or the duchesse, the due de 
Berri, M. le Prince, M. le due,, or the younger prince de 
Conti* — all of whom would, as you know, have had an 
equal right to be present at the king’s bedside. This puz- 
zled us beyond measure. Every one of the seven was in 
the best of health and strength, while the king was then 
nearly seventy years old. Yet, as you know, all seven have 
died since that evening at madame d’Argenton’s, and the 
king outlived the whole of thefn. I narrated this to M. de 
St. Simon at Marly the next morning, and he will tell you 
whether my memory serves me correctly.” 

"It is perfectly correct,” said St. Simon. "I may say 
that I made complete notes of the affair at once, and have 
them still amongst my journals.f But that is not all, M. 
le due.” 

"No. Gentlemen, after the child had told us every- 
thing she could, I asked to know what would become of 
myself. That could not be seen in the glass. But the 
expert offered to produce the semblance of myself like a 
picture on the wall, if I had no objection. After several 
minutes, spent in some performance I could not under- 
stand, my image appeared suddenly upon the wall like a 
painting, life-size, dressed as I then was, but wearing a 
crown. This crown had four circles, and covered my head. 
It was neither that of France, England, Spain or the Em- 
pire, and in fact I neither knew nor could guess what it 
was in the least. You, gentlemen, are perfectly welcome 
to think it meant nothing at all. For myself, after such 
a wonderful fulfilment of the very complicated prophecy 
of the circumstances of the king’s death, nothing will per- 
suade me that the unknown crown was not. intended to in- 
dicate the regency.” 

* The prince de Conde (died 1709) and his son, the due de 
Bourbon (died 1710), were always known respectively as ‘M. le 
Prince’ and ‘ M. le Due’ par excellence. MM. de Conti (died 1709) 
and de Conde were first cousins. 

t The curious in these matters may find St. Simon’s own ac- 
count in the famous ‘Memoires’ (vol. xiii., p. 458 ; edition 
Hachette). 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


43 


“I have only to add,” said St. Simon, “that although, 
as everyone knows, I detest and despise all fortune-tell- 
ing, divination, seeking after forbidden things, and the 
like impious superstitions, there is one thing certain, 
namely, that M. le due told me all this at the time we are 
speaking of. But •” 

“But,” interrupted the duke, “as M. de St. Simon was 
probably going to say, I have not told you the one weak 
point in this alfair. It is this. Besides the persons I have 
mentioned, the child described madame de Maintenon as 
standing near the king’s bed. Now, as you know, the 
marquise has not left St. Cyr since she retired there a 
couple of days ago. You must account for that flaw as 
you choose. The only explanations that occur to me are 
these. Either the king’s dying may be considered to have 
commenced on Friday, when he became delirious, and 
when the marquise was still with him; or, secondly, the 
vision was symbolical, and intended chiefly to indicate 
who would be alive and who would be dead at the time 
of his majesty’s decease.” 

The lieutenant-general of police scratched his chin med- 
itatively. 

“I confess,” said he finally, “that but for M. de St. 
Simon’s recollection of being told of this affair at the date 
of its occurrence, I should have felt convinced that it was 
either an hallucination or a vivid dream of M. le due’s, 
happening recently, and read back, as it were, into the past. 
But as it is, I have nothing to say. Certainly I never 
heard anything like it.” 

De Charost and the two others were too deeply im- 
pressed to make any comment, and the duke went on, 

“Now that you know why I expect the regency, gentle- 
men, let me tell you, once for all, that personally I do not 
care a sou for it. I shall claim it, because it is my right, 
and because to waive my right would leave the state in 
very dangerous hands. But I assure you I look upon the 
whole thing as a nuisance, all the greater because, un- 
luckily, it comes just at the wrong time.” 

“How, M. le due ?” asked de Charost, who seemed rather 
relieved at the new development of things. 

“Why, I was just preparing to have a pleasant time of 
it,” replied the duke. “You know that since poor Huim 


44 Gvvynett of Thornhaugh 

bert died last year, my chemistry has been at a standstill, 
and my laboratory might as well be shut up. He was 
invaluable to me, and I have found no one to supply his 
place. Latterly I have been in correspondence with the 
famous professor Scholtzius of Heidelberg, asking him to 
take Humbert’s post, and he has constantly refused. But 
last month he wrote saying that he had persuaded his 
most able colleague, his right-hand man, to pay a visit to 
Paris, and to remain for a time with me if desired. Now, 
you see, instead of enjoying myself making stinks, as St. 
Simon puts it, I shall have to be bored with governing 
the kingdom.” 

“At all events, M. le due,” said St. Simon, in a re- 
signed tone, “you will have less leisure for daubing.” 

The ’worthy St. Simon has recorded that after the death 
of the chemist Humbert, in 1714, M. d'Orleans took to 
oil painting as a hobby for his afternoons, a pursuit whose 
degrading character shocked the chronicler even more ter- 
ribly than the ducal impiety and chemistry, against which 
he conscientiously inveighed at all times and seasons. 

“Heavens ! my dear friend,” responded the duke, “get 
out of the pulpit, or I vow I will let loose my new chem- 
ist upon you with all his most astonishing stenches. He 
ought to be in Paris by this time. But let us return to 
the salon ; I think we all understand each other now.” 

As the party passed out of the cabinet M. de Torcy met 
them, coming to pay his respects to the duke. 

“Here is the first vulture settling down upon my 
doomed carcass,” grumbled the duke, pointing to the for- 
eign secretary’s portfolio. “Spare me till to-morrow, my 
dear marquis, unless you will hide that portfolio some- 
where, and come to dine with me at the Palais-Royal.” 

The marquis bowed, and glanced keenly at the duke for 
a moment. 

“Ah! you are then leaving here, M. le due?” he re- 
marked negligently. 

Something in his look and tone caused the duke in- 
stantly to change his mind. 

f( Pester he said to himself, “these Colberts always man- 
age to be right. Why should I leave du Maine at the top 
of the dunghill ? It will be an abdication.” 

“On second thoughts, no,”’ he replied aloud. “It will 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


45 


disappoint the cook here, who really does his best for me, 
although he is deplorably behind my own M. Eobert. To- 
morrow morning will be early enough. And please remem- 
ber, gentlemen, one thing above all others !” 

“What is that, M. le due ?” asked the party in chorus. 

“You must all say the most beautiful things about MM. 
du Maine and de Toulouse — recollect a big pill wants a lot 
of migar.” 

“I should like to be quite sure about the pill,” mut- 
tered d’Argenson sotto voce. M. de Torcy smiled imper- 
ceptibly. At this moment M. de Simiane, who had been 
signalled to the gallery door, returned to the duke’s side, 
saying, 

“I think your expected arrival from Heidelberg is here, 
M. le due.” 

“Bravo !” said the duke, “bring him in.” 

De Simiane nodded to an usher in the doorway, and the 
official stepped back to allow the newcomer to pass. A tall 
man, upon whom the eyes of the party were at once fixed, 
appeared within the doorway, and bowed before coming 
forward. M. de Torcy started, and the duke uttered an 
exclamation of delight. 

“M. Randolph Dorrington,” he cried, ff by all that’s 
wonderful !” 

“M. Gwynett !” stammered the marquis, in utter stupe- 
faction. 

“M. le chevalier de Starhemberg,” announced the usher 
from the doorway. 


46 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER V. 

ON THE 1ST OE SEPTEMBER, 1715. 

T HE duke went hastily forward and shook Gwynett 
warmly by the hand. 

“My dear sir,” he said, “this is a delightful sur- 
prise. Is it really you whom Dr. Scholtzius has sent me ?” 
“Certainly, M. le due.” 

“Admirable ! I was just thinking of you — not in the 
least as an expected savant, but in connection with our lit- 
tle adventure of three years ago. I have never forgiven 
you for running away unthanked as you did. But I am 
not quite sure to whom I have the honor of speaking; M. 
de Torcy, surely you told me this gentleman’s name was 
M. Randolph Dorrington?” 

“It was a mistake, M. le due,” explained the marquis, 
shaking hands with Gwynett, and looking a little confused 
as he met d’Argenson’s eye. 

“And just now you used some other name, which I did 
not quite catch.” 

“That was nothing — a slip of the tongue,” replied de 
Torcy hastily. 

“Well, marquis, when you have made up your mind 
what to call your friend, I will introduce him to the others 
here.” 

“M. le due,” observed Gwynett, “the usher announced 
me quite correctly.” 

“It is M. le chevalier de Starhemberg,” explained de 
Torcy. “A distant relation of comte de Starhemberg, the 
Imperial general.” 

“That begins to be intelligible,” said the duke, intro- 
ducing Gwynett to the five bystanders. “Gentlemen, this 
is the hero of the adventure you all know about, when my 
life was saved in the Rue St. Honore after the mob had 
upset my carriage — a service which it is possible may turn 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


47 

out very conveniently for some of you, to say nothing of 
myself.” 

This exordium was naturally sufficient to secure for its 
subject a more than respectful reception from the group, 
and the duke went on, 

“I daresay that MM. de Torcy, de Canillac, de Simiane, 
and d’Argenson have forgotten something which I said to 
them on that occasion, and which is extraordinarily a pro- 
pos to-day. I told you that this gentleman had called me 
‘monseigneur/ did I not?” 

“I recollect that,” said d’Argenson. 

“After what I have just told you of the evening at ma- 
dame d’Argentoffis, was I not justified in thinking it curi- 
ous ?” 

“I do not contradict you, M. le due.” 

“Parbleu! I should think not. Meanwhile, let M. de 
Starhemberg have the credit of being a prophet without 
knowing it. To-morrow you shall all call me monseign- 
«ur, as he did three years ago.” 

“I really begin to believe it,” said de Charost. “But 
now, M. le duc r you must excuse me. I shall go with 
major Contades to make the round of the regiments on 
our own account, in readiness for to-morrow at the Pa- 
lais de Justice. In the meantime, place my services at 
the disposal of M. de Starhemberg in any way I can be of 
use to him.” 

Gwynett and the captain exchanged salutations, and the 
latter went off to his Guards, while the lieutenant-general 
of police whispered to de Torcy, 

“What nonsense did you tell me about an old man who 
had spent seventeen years in the Bastille ? This is quite a 
young fellow.” 

“Hush ! my dear d’Argenson — it is all a mistake. I will 
explain it some other time.” 

“M. de Torcy,” said the duke, “as you and M. de Star- 
hemberg seem to he old friends, I will restrain my impa- 
tience to talk over our mutual hobby with him, and leave 
him in your hands for the rest of the day — unless he has 
other arrangements.” 

Gwynett disclaimed having any programme, and de 
Torcy replied to the duke, 

“As you cannot start making stenches with M. de Star- 


48 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

hemberg till you return to the Palais-Royal, M. le due, I 
shall be^ delighted to have the opportunity of renewing my 
acquaintance with him.” 

“Very good,” said the duke. “M. de Starhemberg, 
M. de Conflans will do his best for you at the Palais- 
Hoy a 1, and the sooner you do me the honor to take up your 
quarters there, the better I shall be pleased. Au revoir, 
messieurs.” 

The marquis took Gwynett off to his cabinet, and asked 
eagerly for an explanation of his startlingly unexpected 
reappearance. This was given in full, as Gwynett saw no 
reasons for concealing the facts of the case so long as they 
were not allowed to transpire; and he brought down his 
history to the day of his departure from Dover, an hour or 
two after the duke of Marlborough had sailed for Ant- 
werp. 

“You will see, M. le marquis,” he remarked parenthetic- 
ally, “that I was not only prevented from executing the 
commission with which lady Mel fort was good enough to 
charge me, but the letter is unfortunately lost into the 
bargain. I must ask you to make some sort of apology for 
me in the matter.” 

“Don’t let that trouble you, my dear M. de Starhem- 
berg. Just after you left, my cousin took it into her head 
to become devout, and she has probably forgotten all about 
the letter — which you may rest assured was not of the 
smallest consequence. There is another piece of news, 
however, which is a little more important — for you, at all 
events. Your ship the Fleur de Lys is at the bottom of 
the sea.” 

“Indeed ! how did that happen ?” 

“She caught fire and foundered on her voyage to Eng- 
land, only a week or two after we left her at Calais. I 
heard of it by chance some months later. And what have 
you been doing since you left Dover?” 

“I stayed with my uncle about a year,” replied Gwynett. 
“Then he Suddenly astonished everybody by getting mar- 
ried to the daughter of one of his neighbors — a girl of 
about a quarter his age. I left his house shortly after 
that.” 

“The new baroness made the place top hot to hold you, 
I suppose ?” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


49 


“No, indeed ; it was so much the other way that I 
had no choice but to escape before something ridiculous 
happened.” 

“So!” said the marquis, rather amused. “And then?” 

“After that I went back to England in disguise to try 
and learn something about my betrothed and her father 
and Noel Wray. But neither my lawyer nor I could get 
any intelligence at all. The Mermaid had not come home, 
the Wrays were said to be still in America, Wray Manor 
and Dorrington Hall were both shut up, and nobody 
could be found to tell us anything. Rather curiously, I 
discovered quite by chance that at Wilks Coffee-house, 
where I used to put up in London, a letter was waiting 
for Mr. Dorrington.” 

The marquis decided at once that this must be the duke 
of Marlborough’s letter concerning the Brest expedition, 
which he had addressed to Mr. Dorrington three years be- 
fore, and of which he had heard nothing since. 

“Indeed?” he remarked. 

“I gave the landlord another to keep for Mr. Dorring- 
ton, if he should turn up there, in which I told him where 
I should be heard of.” 

“Evidently my little plan has miscarried,” thought the 
marquis. “M. de Marlborough is more lucky than he 
knows of.” 

“I then went to Heidelberg,” proceeded Gwynett, “and 
entered the laboratory of Dr. Scholtzius. I made another 
visit to England last autumn, with the same object as be- 
fore, and with the same want of success. Since then I have 
remained at Heidelberg, until the doctor asked me if I 
would care to go and assist M. d’Orleans. I thought it 
would be an agreeable change, especially as I found 
domestic matters there rather trying.” 

“How was that?” 

“My landlord’s househoM unfortunately became des- 
perately fond of me, and used to insist on my joining the 
family circle now and then. They belonged to the class 
of people who talk about their acquaintances.” 

“Good heavens!” ejaculated the marquis sympathetic- 
ally. 

“I made an heroic effort, and moved to another lodging, 
pursued by the tears of the four youngest children. The 


50 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

same thing happened again, except that my new landlord’s 
family talked about themselves.” 

“That is the bottom, without doubt,” observed the mar- 
quis. “I fancy they have much more interesting conver- 
sation than that at Charenton.* I am quite sure the 
lower animals do not talk about their families or friends. 
There are a lot of rookeries round my place in Picardy, 
and I often used to listen to the enormous chattering that 
went on amongst them. My impression was that, as they 
were close to the frontier, they were discussing foreign 
affairs. But go on.” 

“I was making inquiries for a deaf and dumb house- 
hold,” went on Gwynett, “when Dr. Scholtzius received 
the last letter from M. d J Orleans. He handed it over to 
me, and it struck me as being very a propos. Thus I am 
here.” 

“May I ask what you suggest in connection with any of 
the people who knew you, during your first visit, as M. 
Ambrose Gwynett, and who have all, like myself, thought 
you were dead?” 

“My uncle and I,” replied Gwynett, “have invented a 
cousin of mine of the same name, whose death has been 
mistaken for mine. That explanation will pass muster 
here, as well as in Munich. There are very few people 
in France who knew me by my real name, and if neces- 
sary it can easily be explained to those few that mv full 
name is Gwynett de Starhemberg. This will serve for 
your nephew M. de Lavalaye, his fiancee at Calais, and 
her father, M. Daguerre.” 

“My nephew is now married,” said the marquis. “He 
and his wife will be as surprised and pleased to see you as 
I am. He is living at Versailles at present; but it is pos- 
sible that after to-morrow we may all find it necessary to 
return to Paris.” 

“I come back here at a very critical juncture, it ap- 
pears. When I saw the king nearly four years ago, I did 
not suppose he would live so long/ 

“For I. Something curious happened in the early sum- 
mer of This year. I used to read the Dutch journals to 
the king every morning, and one day I stumbled, before T 

*The great prison of Paris for criminal lunatics. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


5 T 

was aware of it, into a piece of gossip to the effect that in 
London heavy bets were being laid that his majesty would 
not last till September 1st.” 

“That is to-day?” 

“Yes. The king noticed my boggling, and insisted upon 
my reading the whole passage. He said nothing; but I 
am sure he never forgot the affair. Not that it could have 
made much difference. His majesty had acquired such a 
confirmed habit of surviving his descendants that it has 
left matters very awkwardly.” 

“Since I arrived here, I have been assured that if 
I have the opportunity of working with M. d’Orleans at 
our pet science, it will most likely haVe to be in the Bas- 
tille.” 

The marquis shrugged his shoulders. 

“We will drive to Paris and back again to-day,” he said, 
“and you can judge for yourself how things are likely to 
go.” 

Whatever might be the sentiments entertained at Ver- 
sailles towards the party of M. du Maine, madame de 
Maintenon, and the Jesuits, there was no doubt whatever 
as to the attitude of the populace, whether in Paris or out 
of it. As the marquis and Gwynett drove in during the 
_ afternoon, the whole aspect of affairs might be taken for 
that of some great day of popular rejoicing. Booths for 
drinking, dancing, and music were being erected at the 
roadsides and at corners of the streets, laughing and sing- 
ing could be heard in every cabaret , and little banners 
were streaming from many windows. Piles of firewood for 
bonfires stood in convenient open spaces, with gibbets on 
which to hang Jesuits in effigy. 'Hideous caricatures of 
the detested pere Tellier were on sale at the bookshops, 
together with pasquinades on madame de Maintenon by 
a certain young wit just out of his teens, named l’Arouet, 
who chose to turn hig name into Voltaire. Groups of boys 
and women promenaded the highways shouting “Down 
with the Jesuits!” and immense crowds gathered round 
the Palais-Royal to cheer for the due d’Orleans, the par- 
liament, and the princes of the blood. Everywhere there 
were evidences of satisfaction or relief, and it was diffi- 
cult to discover any signs of sorrow, however conven- 
tional, at the passing away of the monarch who had reigned 


52 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

over France for seventy-two years, and who, during a gen- 
eration and a half, had been loved and worshipped almost 
as a god. 

“Although I had foreseen a good deal of this for a long 
time,” said de Torcy, as the carriage passed a whole street- 
ful of merrymakers, “it seems almost incredible now it 
has come. I recollect 1686, when the king was so dan- 
gerously ill, as well as yesterday. Then the whole nation 
was in a perfect ecstasy of grief and terror — the churches 
crowded day and night, business at a standstill, women 
crying wherever one went, a pile of offerings at every 
roadside Calvary; it was as if the end of the world was at 
hand.” 

“In England we have never had time or inclination to 
reach that stage of things,” remarked Gwynett; “partly 
because we have had eight rulers while you have had only 
one, and partly because every one of the eight has been 
hated like poison by at least half of the kingdom.” 

“From all we learn just now,” replied de Torcy, “your 
George I. is not so much hated by a few as disliked by 
everybody. You are somewhat on the side of the chev- 
alier de St. George, if I recollect right?” 

“I am not enough of a partisan to recommend a civil 
war for his benefit, monsieur.” 

“Theii you have no objection to meet Whigs in Paris ?” 

“None at all. But why?” 

“Because, if you wish to be correctly in society in Paris, 
you must put in an appearance at the comtesse de Valin- 
cour's, and lord Stair spends half his time there. Do you 
recollect her?” 

“If it is the lady I met at madame de Melfort’s once, she 
is not a person to be forgotten.” 

“That is she. And talking of — ahem ! angels — here she 
is, if I am not mistaken.” 

A carriage and six was just passing them on the way to 
Versailles, and the marquis had time to recognize the" oc- 
cupant as madame de Valincour. The check-strings of 
both carriages were pulled simultaneously, the vehicles 
stopped, and M. de Torcy got out to speak to the com- 
tesse. 

“I am just going out to see madame de Ventadour, 
marquis,” she explained. “Have you any news?” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


53 

“You have no doubt heard all the news I could tell you, 
comtesse.” 

“Then the king is really dead, and the parliament meets 
to-morrow to open the will?” 

“Yes.” 

“And M. d’ Orleans ?” 

“He remains at Versailles.” 

“That is sensible. Are you alone?” 

“No; I am showing a friend, just arrived from Heidel- 
berg, how the good people, of Paris take the great event. 
I think you have met him — M. de Starhemberg.” 

The lips of the comtesse parted. She became suddenly 
pale, and then a little flush spread over her cheeks. 

“Are you not well, comtesse?” asked the watchful mar- 
quis. 

“Quite. I find this hot weather rather tiring, that is 
all. I recollect M. de Starhemberg very well. Is he 
making any stay in Paris?” 

“Probably. But I will bring him here to answer for 
himself.” 

The marquis went back to the carriage, and returned 
with Gwynett, whom the comtesse received with exceeding 
graciousness. After a few commonplaces, she tendered an 
invitation to call upon her at her hotel in Paris and to 
consider her receptions open to him. This, of course, was 
accepted; and madame de Valincour, nodding a farewell, 
drove off towards Versailles. 

“Decidedly my star is in the ascendant,” thought the 
comtesse, as she lay back on the cushions, her face radiant, 
with triumphant happiness. “Madame des Ursins an ex- 
ile, the king dead at last, the duke at my feet — and now, 
to meet him again !” 

“What is the matter, Yvonne?” asked the duchesse de 
Ventadour, when the friends were alone together in the 
little king’s rooms at Versailles. “I never saw your eyes 
look so bright before. Are you expecting that M. d’Or- 
leans will put you back in the household here?” 

“That is it, my dear friend,” replied the comtesse laugh- 
ing. “You have a wonderful knack of guessing things.” 

“You see I know you so well,” said madame de Venta- 
dour complacently. 


54 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER VI. 

A COUP d'etat. 

L OUIS XIV. died on Sunday, September 1st, 1715. 
Between five and six o’clock the following morn- 
ing a party of peers, headed by St. Simon, met at the 
house of the archbishop of Rheims. The gathering was 
called to decide on the course to be adopted in view of 
the probability that, at the forthcoming meeting of the 
parliament of Paris, the first president would perpetrate 
the outrage of keeping his hat on while he called for 
the votes of the peers. After nearly two hours’ dis- 
cussion, it was agreed to make a formal postponement of 
the ducal grievances in accordance with the request of 
M. d’ Orleans the day before. This done, the party ad- 
journed to the Palais de Justice. 

It was now seven o’clock. The parliament had as- 
sembled, most of the noble and legal members were 
seated in the great hall, and an enormous crowd of peo- 
ple filled the precincts of the Palais. It was seen that 
the du Maine party had mustered in their full strength^ 
and the adherents of the due d’ Orleans felt a good deal 
of uneasiness at the possible result of the crisis. 

In order to accord as strong a position as possible to 
his illegitimate children, Louis XIV. had married 
Marie- Anne de Blois (his daughter by la Valliere) to the 
elder of the two princes de Conti, and Louise-Frangoise 
de Nantes (his daughter by Madame de Montespan) 
to the due de Bourbon-Conde (known as “M. le Due”). 
On the other hand, the due du Maine, brother to ma- 
demoiselle de Nantes and half-brother to mademoiselle 
de Blois, had been married to M. le Due’s sister, Louise- 
Benedicte de Bourbon.* This princess was a woman of 
unbounded ambition, a sworn foe to the due d’Orleans, 


Styled mademoiselle de le Charolais. 


A Dead Maas Shoes 


55 


hand-in-glove with madame de Maintenon and the Jes- 
uits, and ready to use any means whatever to push for- 
ward her husbands interests at the expense of those 
of his rival. Had her brother, M. le Due, and her 
cousins, the two princes de Conti, been living at this 
juncture, their influence would have been of consider- 
able service. But M. le Due had died in 1710, and the 
surviving Conti in 1709 ; and although each had left 
a son to represent his house, these were not yet quite 
or age, and moreover were, if anything, rather attracted 
to M. d’ Orleans. Nevertheless, the beauty, energy, and 
audacity of the Conde princess made and held together a 
party not easy to reckon with, and only requiring the 
support of the king’s will and codicil to be formidable. 

Perhaps it was in view of this state of things that the 
due de Guiche, in temporary command of the king’s 
Guards on this occasion, interpreted his instructions suf- 
ficiently liberally to place a couple of thousand of his 
men, all Orleanists, at different doorways of the Palais 
de Justice — a service for which ill-natured people after- 
w ards asserted that he received six hundred thousand 
francs from the due d’Orleans. 

Seven or eight minutes after St. Simon and his 
brother malcontents had taken their places, a sudden lull 
in the hum of conversation was caused by the entry of 
the due du Maine and his brother the comte de Tou- 
louse. The former looked round with an air of some- 
what insolent assurance, while his brother preserved the 
impassive stolidity which always characterized him. The 
due du Maine made his way up the hall, walking with 
his usual limp. This limp had raised the “veuve Scar- 
ron” from the nursery to the side of the throne, for it was 
the congenital deformity of the eldest son of madame de 
Montespan and the king which had led to his being sent 
by Dr. d’Aquin to the waters of Bareges, and placed for 
this purpose under the care of the future marquise de 
Maintenon. The two brothers took their seats on the 
president’s dais, next to the places of the princes of the 
blood. 

A minute or two .later the young MM. de Bourbon- 
Conde and de Conti arrived, bowed to their uncles, and 
seated themselves between the latter and the president. 


56 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

Finally, a tremendous uproar of cheering, which 
reached even to the doors of the great hall, announced 
the approach of M. d’Orleans, who was ostentatiously 
escorted by almost every officer of the regiments in the 
capital. All eyes were fixed upon the duke as he came 
up the hall, bowing right and left to his friends, and took 
his seat, as first prince of the blood, next to the president. 
The latter, after waiting a moment for silence, ex- 
changed glances with the due d’Orleans, uncovered, and 
rose to address the assembly. - 

“Messieurs du parliament,” he said, “I announce to 
you, with profound grief, the death of our sovereign, his 
most Christian majesty Louis XIV. His crown descends 
to his great-grandson, M. le due d’ Anjou, Louis XV. 
Vive le roi!” 

All the members rose to their feet, the peers un- 
covering and covering again, and then resumed their 
seats. , 

“Messieurs du parliament,” went on the president, 
“his late glorious majesty, knowing that provision would 
require to be made for the minority of his successor, 
whom God preserve, had the condescension just twelve 
months back to summon to Versailles the attorney-gen- 
eral and myself. His purpose was to place in 'our hands 
a sealed packet containing his will, with his orders to 
summon you forthwith to be told of this deposit, and to 
register the same — which, as you will doubtless recollect, 
was done. His majesty furthermore laid it upon us that 
immediately after his decease this parliament should be 
summoned and his will opened and read. It is for this 
purpose, messieurs du parliament, that we are now as 
sembled.” 

The president sat down, and the irrepressible St. Simon 
rose in his place, uncovered, and put his hat on again. 

“M. le premier president,” said he, in a voice of porten- 
tous solemnity, “on the part of my fellow-peers and my- 
self, I beg to say that although certain questions of pro- 
cedure in this parliament, affecting our rights and dig- 
nity, call for adjustment, we waive the demand for that 
adjustment on the present occasion, reserving in full our 
claims to have the privileges of our rank recognized in 
the immediate future,” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


57 


This exordium^ of which its author was very proud, and 
which did nothing but arouse hostility among the “no- 
blesse of the robe,” was listened to in silence, and the 
due d’ Orleans rose to administer a palliative. 

“M. le premier president,” he began, “we shall all listen 
to the contents of his late majesty’s will with the most 
profound respect. But I think it right to inform messieurs 
du parliament that, whatever may be the contents of the 
will, I claim the right, in virtue of my birth and of the 
fundamental laws of the realm, to act as sole regent during 
the minority of his present majesty, to select suitable per- 
sons to assist me in the government, to order the civil and 
military household of his majesty, and to dispose of the 
armed forces of the kingdom as may be requisite for the 
safety and welfare of his majesty and his subjects. It is 
only under these conditions, M. le premier president, that 
1 should be able to carry out my desire and intention : first 
that advisory councils, instead of single officers of state, 
shall administer the different departments of the govern- 
ment; second, that distinguished legal members of this 
parliament shall be included in these said advisory coun- 
cils ; and third, that the right of addressing remon- 
strances to his majesty, at present in abeyance, shall be 
restored, forthwith and in full, to all the parliaments of 
the kingdom.” 

The duke sat down, smiling b ] andly, and a murmur of 
approval passed: round amongst the judges, councillors, 
and peers. The duke’s little speech delighted everybody 
except the legitimes. The assembly as a whole hailed the 
restoration of the right of “remonstrating” (of which Louis 
XIV. had arbitrarily deprived not only the metropolitan 
but the provincial parliaments) with unbounded satisfac- 
tion. The idea of substituting councils of state for the 
authority of individual ministers opened up an agreeable 
vista of opportunities, either of filling office or exercising 
influence, to a large number of neutral or unfriendly 
peers. And finally, the definite promise of a share in 
the administration came as a gratifying surprise to the 
“noblesse of the robe,” with whom the Maintenon party had 
been at open war for a generation. The duke’s diplomacy, 
therefore, went a long way towards neutralizing any 
dissatisfaction that might have attended St. Simon’s offi- 


58 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

cions intervention, while it did nothing to alienate the 
peers. M. dn Maine was evidently taken aback by it, and 
lost a good deal cf his confident look. 

The president, rising again, intimated that the will 
would now be produced and read. He accordingly left 
his seat, accompanied by the attorney-general and the 
chief grejfier of the parliament, and went to the tower be- 
• hind the buvette. Here some masons were in readiness, 
who proceeded to make an opening at an indicated place in 
the wall. The removal of the stones revealed a hinged 
iron grid, built into the masonry, with three locks, each of 
which required a different key. The three functionaries 
produced their several keys, the bolts were shot back, and 
the grid was opened. Deeper in the cavity was an iron 
door, furnished with locks similar to those of the grid. 
The three keys were brought into requisition again, and 
the massive door swung on its hinges. In a small recess 
beyond was a wooden coffer, and in this coffer a sealed 
parchment packet. The three officials uncovered. The 
president took out the packet, and returned with his two 
companions to the great hall, each carrying his hat as if 
in the presence of royalty. 

Arrived at his seat the president, amidst profound si- 
lence, opened the will and handed it to the councillor 
Dreux, with a request that he would read it aloud. This 
was done. 

After several minor provisions, including some for the 
keeping up of the institution at St. Cyr, the will proceeded 
to appoint a council of regency to govern the kingdom 
during the minority of the due d J Anjou, now Louis XV. 
It was to consist of the due d’Orleans, those princes of the 
blood who were over twenty-four years of age, the four 
secretaries of state, the chancellor, the chief of the council 
of finance, the comptroller-general of finance, and the 
marshals Villeroi, Villars, d’Uxelles, de Tallard, and 
d’Harcourt. . Everything in this council was to be decided 
by a majorit}' - . The entire and irresponsible command 
of the household troops was given to the due du Maine. 
Marechal Villeroi was appointed governor to the new 
king, with MM. de Saumery and Geoff reville as sub-gov- 
ernors; but M. du Maine (or, if he were dead, M. de Tou- 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


59 

louse) was to have an inspectorship and superintendence 
over everything relating to the king's education. 

An irrepressible murmur arose out of the silence that 
accompanied the reading of the will. MM. de Bourbon- 
Conde and de Conti were not yet twenty-four. With the 
exception of M. de Torcy, the foreign secretary, every per- 
son named for the council of regency was a mere tool of 
the Maintenon party. With the household troops at the 
command of the due du Maine, the whole state was de- 
livered over, bound hand and foot, to the clique of the 
legitimes. If the will were carried out, the liberty and life 
of the due d' Orleans would not be worth a day's pur- 
chase. His inclusion in the council of regency was, under 
the circumstances, a mere farce. 

A glow of triumph lit up the face of the due du Maine 
as the reading of the will was concluded. The comte 
de Toulouse gazed at the president with a perfectly expres- 
sionless countenance. The due d'Orleans shiiled serenely 
and helped himself to snuff. M. Dreux sat down, and 
the president rose again, holding in his hand another 
document. 

“Messieurs du parliament," he said, “I have further to 
announce to you that this morning M. le chancelier Voysin 
placed in my hands this document, respecting which he 
will make you a communication." 

The chancellor rose, looking rather uncomfortable. 
Everybody knew the equivocal circumstances under which 
the codicil had been extorted from the king, and a fresh 
murmur swept over the hall. Evidently the atmosphere 
of the Palais de Justice was not so sympathetic as that 
of Versailles. 

“Messieurs du parliament," began the chancellor, “I 
have the honor to inform you that yesterday week his late 
majesty entrusted me with a codicil to his will, ordering 
me to have it produced at the same time as his will, and 
considered in connection with it. I have therefore this 
morning, in discharge of my duty, placed it in the hands 
of M. le premier president." 

The chancellor sat down, and the due d'Orleans whis- 
pered some suggestion in the ear of the president. The 
latter nodded approvingly, and in place of the councillor 
Dreux (who had been heard with great difficulty), requested 


6o 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

the abbe Menguy to read the codicil aloud. This the 
abbe proceeded to do, in a voice which reached the public 
in the corridors. 

The codicil confirmed the assignment of control over the 
civil and military household of the new king to the due 
du Maine, gave him the command of all the regiments in 
and around Paris, and nominated marechal Villeroi as his 
deputy in all things connected with the royal service. 

The reading of the codicil went visibly to encourage the 
due du Maine and his party, and a good deal of excite- 
ment began to show itself amongst the assembly. At a 
glance from the president the due d’ Orleans again rose, and 
said : 

“Messieurs du parliament, it appears to me that we may 
conveniently discuss, and settle first, the question of the 
regency, leaving the matters referred to in the codicil to 
be dealt with afterwards. As regards his late majesty’s 
will, messieurs, I have only to say that its tenor is entirely 
at variance with his majesty’s own words to me on Sunday 
week, when he assured me that I should find nothing in his 
will but what would please me. I may also remind sev- 
eral of those now present that his majesty, the following 
day, intimated to the entrees that I should be entrusted 
with the government of the kingdom. As these repeated 
assurances of his majesty accord with justice, with my 
rights as first prince of the blood, and with the best in- 
terests of the monarchy, I call upon you, messieurs, to af- 
firm that his late majesty was not aware of the real con- 
tents of the will he had been induced to sign, and that 
it is therefore invalid. And I claim in consequence to -be 
nominated sole regent, with the right to select and appoint 
those councillors, ministers, and commanders, civil and 
military, whom I may deem the most capable and worthy 
to serve the interests of his majesty and the country.” 

A murmur of applause and assent came from all parts 
of the great hall as the duke resumed his seat, and cries 
of “Agreed !” rose from among both the peers and the 
lawyers. The due du Maine changed countenance, and rose 
to speak, without waiting for MM. de Bourbon and de 
Conti, who of course had the prior right. Noticing this, 
the due d’Orleans leaned forward and intervened with a 
curt “You will speak in your turn, monsieur.” Du 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 61 

Maine sank back in his seat completely disconcerted. The 
Orleanist sympathizers started a chorus of “Vote ! Vote !” 
which was echoed by a large majority of the assembly; and 
the president decided, with the wisdom of the serpent, to 
call for a decision without inviting any further expressions 
of opinion. 

“Messieurs du parliament,” said he, rising, “do you 
acclaim M. le due d’ Orleans sole regent, with full and 
complete powers?” 

A roar of assent came from the assembly, and not a 
single voice was raised in opposition. The comte de Tou- 
louse sat in impassive silence, and the due du Maine con- 
fined himself to biting his nails nervously. 

The president sat down, and the- due d’Orleans rose 
again. 

“Messieurs du parliament,” he said, “I thank you for N 
your decision. I beg to propose, as part of your decree, 
that all matters of general government shall be decided 
by a majority of voices in a council of regency, of which 
M. le due de Bourbon shall be chief, and in which the 
regent shall have a casting vote in case of equality only.” 

This proposal at once detached the Conde party from the 
faction of the due du Maine, and was approved by ac- 
clamation as vigorously as the former one. 

“Messieurs,” proceeded the duke, “we have now to con- 
sider the matters referred to in the codicil. Whatever I 
have said about his late majesty’s will applies with equal 
or greater force to the codicil, and I have only to add that 
I cannot consent to place my own life and liberty, and the 
security of the king’s person, in hands over which I shall 
have no control whatever. To carry on the government 
under such conditions would be impossible. I have the 
honor therefore, messieurs, to call for the abrogation of the 
codicil.” 

The duke resumed his seat amid fresh applause. The 
due du Maine, recognizing that it was now or never, rose 
and stammered forth a defence of his claim. Without 
contesting the decision arrived at with regard to the re- 
gency, he urged that the education of the young king 
and the care of his person had been expressly confided to 
him by his late majesty, and that to fulfill this duty and to 
answer for the royal safety he must have control over the 


62 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

civil and military household. He followed up this by 
some little vaunting of his. love for the late king and of 
the confidence reposed in him by the latter, and was pro- 
ceeding to eulogize his designated colleague, Villeroi, when 
the due d’ Orleans interrupted him. 

“Pardon me, monsieur,” he said. “Let us understand 
one another. Do you suggest that I shall act as regent un- 
der the military dictatorship of yourself and M. le mare- 
chal Villeroi?” 

Du Maine muttered that there was no question of a 
military dictatorship. 

“Indeed?” replied the duke, blandly. “Then do me 
the favor, monsieur, to select a better term for an arrange- 
ment under which the regent and the councils of state 
may be put in the Bastille whenever M. du Maine chooses.” 

This little dialogue led to a general discussion, which 
was passing from warm to riotous when the due d’Orleans 
and two of his chief advisers, the dues de St. Simon and de 
la Force, after putting their heads together in one of the 
committee-rooms, proposed to the hungry parliamenta- 
rians that they should adjourn for dinner and settle the re- 
mainder of the details of government when they reassem- 
bled. It was now nearly two o’clock, and the proposition 
was agreed to forthwith. 

An interval of two hours was spent by the Orleanist lead- 
ers, including the future chancellor d’Aguesseau, the at- 
torney-general, the chief advocate-general Fleury, MM. de 
Canillac and de Conflans, and others, in detaching the 
remnants of the du Maine faction; and when the mem- 
bers met again at four o’clock, the result of the debate 
was a foregone conclusion. The duke at once rose, re- 
peated his refusal to accept a regency hampered by the 
proposed conditions, and appealed to the votes of the as- 
sembly to support him. The due du Maine, speaking in 
a subdued tone, could scarcely obtain a hearing, and the 
codicil was abrogated by acclamation. 

The disappointed claimant, almost weeping, asked that 
he should not be deprived of everything. Surely the su- 
perintendence of the education of the king, without re- 
sponsibility, could be still left to him? 

“With all my heart,” replied the due d’ Orleans, who 
had no desire to push his defeated rival to extremity. 


A Dead Man's Shoes 63 

Then the old marechal Villeroi rose, and a respectful 
reception was accorded to him by the assembly. 

“Monseigneur,” said the veteran modestly, “I have only 
to remind messieurs du parliament that when his late 
majesty did me the honor to nominate me as governor to 
his successor, he had doubtless not forgotten that Louis 

XIII. assigned a similar duty to my father.” 

This allusion evoked a sympathetic cheer from the 
whole parliament, emphasized vigorously by the compan- 
ions-in-arms of the old soldier. As a matter of fact, the 
elder marechal de Villeroi, father of Louis XY/s desig- 
nated tutor, had seventy years before been tutor to Louis 

XIV. 

“Messieurs,” remarked the due d’Orleans, “I think we 
are all agreed that M. le marechal only asks for what is 
due to his merits and the services of his family — is it not 
so?” 

This was agreed to without a dissentient. The decree 
of regency, with the nomination of the due de Bourbon as 
chief of the council, was then voted by acclamation, and 
the cheers of the assembly reached even to the streets 
around the Palais de Justice. The meeting broke up, and 
the regent, attended by an enormous concourse of the in- 
habitants of Paris, went home to the Palais-Royal. 

About seven o’clock the same evening a messenger 
brought madame de Valincour a little note, which ran: 

“Dear comtesse, 

“Is the Regent of France a political nonentity? 

“Philippe.” 

The comtesse laughed, and said to herself, “Decidedly 
the duke has an excellent memory.” 

Then she wrote across the foot of the note: 

“Monseigneur, 

“On the contrary. 

“Yvonne.” 

She sealed the note up again, and sent it back by the 
duke’s messenger. 

In the morning the fashionable world of Paris learnt 
with profound interest that the comtesse de Valincour was 
to be saluted as the reigning favorite of the regent. 


6 4 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE PRINCESSE PALATINE. 

W HILE the parliament of Paris was engaged in dis- 
posing of Louis XIV.’s last will and testament, 
Gwynett had taken possession of the rooms as- 
signed to him at the Palais-Royal. Here he busied him- 
self in overhauling the contents and arrangements of the 
regent’s chemical laboratory, and in making memoranda 
of what might be desirable, in the. light of his Heidelberg 
experiences, to effect by way of alterations and additions. 
This occupied him the whole of Monday, and he retired 
to bed without availing himself of the regent’s pressing 
invitation to sup with him and a party of his intimates 
that evening. 

The next morning he was at breakfast in his rooms 
when the regent presented himself. 

“My dear M. de Starhemberg,” he said, seating him- 
self with an air of relief, “do not let me disturb you. I 
have no appetite, or I would ask you to permit me to join 
you.” 

“I am a little later than usual,” said Gwynett, going on 
with his meal. 

“I am afraid you are in the fashion,”, remarked the 
regent. “It seems that it has been the custom with his 
late majesty’s ministers to start work at seven o’clock in 
the morning, and they expect me to countenance such 
laziness by sitting up for them.” 

Gwynett, who was of course familiar by hearsay with 
his host’s convivial tastes, looked up rather surprised. 

“You see, chevalier,” went on the regent, “as I pointed 
out to M. de Bourbon last night, regularity of habit is es- 
sential to a busy man. Now I find that I must really get 
to bed by six in the morning if I am to be good for any- 
thing the next day.” 

The duke stopped to sniff, with his nose in the air, and 
then fixed his eye on the coffee-pot. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 65 

“Pardon me” he asked suddenly, “but is that coffee yon 
have there?” 

“Certainly, monseigneur,” said Gwynett, passing the pot 
across the table. “Will yon try it?” 

The regent inhaled the aroma with an expression of 
wonder and ecstasy. 

“Nectar!” he ejaculated rapturously. “If my chef sent 
you that, monsieur, I will have him hanged.” 

“Why, monseigneur?” 

“For never giving me anything like it. It is a dream 
of paradise.” 

“As it happens, monseigneur, M. Eobert had nothing to 
do with it. I prepared it myself in the laboratory, as I 
prefer when time permits.” 

“Pray explain your process to me, chevalier — unless it 
is a secret.” 

“Not at all. In the first place I brought a little coffee 
with me from Heidelberg, part of a present sent to Hr. 
Scholtzius by a Turkish correspondent at Smyrna.” 

“Ah ! That is a good beginning, without doubt. But 
go on, chevalier.” 

“I roast a handful of raw berries in a silver or iron 
spoon over the spirit-lamp until they turn a golden brown. 
Then I crush them with a pestle in a warm iron mortar, 
and make the infusion at once with boiling milk — not 
water.” 

“Admirable!” cried the regent, with enthusiasm. “And 
that idiot St. Simon would like to persuade me that it is 
of no use to have a laboratory. How did you learn this 
inestimable method, chevalier?” 

“In Spain, monseigneur, from a Greek cook in the 
service of M. de Vendome.” 

“Indeed! Very likely one of the two servants who 
robbed him of his clothes when he was dying in a hut by the 
sea-side, left him naked, and ran away. A fine death for a 
prince of the blood, was it not, chevalier?” 

“Good heavens ! was it so ?” 

“Certes! However, by dying he escaped the chance of 
being made regent, which was lucky for him.” 

The regent sighed, sniffed at the coffee-pot again, and 
went on, 

“I may tell you, M. de Starhemberg, that although I 


66 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

always had my misgivings about this regency, I begin, 
to fear it will be even worse than I expected. Decidedly 
one can do one’s duty too expensively. The cares of gov- 
ernment are rather a heavy price to pay, even for the up- 
setting of M. du Maine.” 

Gwynett had no difficulty in recognizing the duke’s 
humor, and replied, 

“It seems to me, monseigneur, that if you find the bur- 
den of a virtual sovereignty too troublesome, the remedy is 
very simple.” 

“Parbleu ! I am glad to hear it. What is your remedy ?” 

“Have no government at all — or rather, insist upon the 
people governing themselves.” 

“You think so, chevalier?” 

“Decidedly, monseigneur, if you ask my opinion. It 
really appears perfectly monstrous that your highness and 
your friends should have to fatigue yourselves with doing 
for the people, very badly indeed, what the people could 
do for themselves, not only very well but very easily. It 
simply encourages laziness.” 

A twinkle in the regent’s eye expressed his appreciation 
of this suggestion. 

“Really, that is a very fine idea of yours, chevalier,” he 
observed seriously. “I will mention it to M. de St. Simon. 
He will probably have a fit, and then life may begin to 
smile upon me again. If not, I shall certainly be advised 
to death before next Saturday, and the lit de justice to 
register the regency will not be wanted. But in the mean- 
time, I am forgetting the object of my intrusion upon you 
this morning. I want to introduce you to my mother at 
St. Cloud. She was told at the time all about our ad- 
venture in the Rue St. Honore; and now that I have so 
happily found you again, she will never forgive me if I 
do not take you to her.” 

Gwynett bowed, and replied with a little hesitation, 

“I shall be greatly honored, monseigneur. But I am 
sure your highness will avoid making me ridiculous by ex- 
aggerating my assistance on the occasion you speak of. 
Anybody can throw bricks from a roof.” 

“My dear chevalier,” said the regent, rising, “you are 
not going to escape being my creditor. It is not only that 
you saved my life, but you have given me a recipe for 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


67 

drinkable coffee. That overwhelms me, and I shall not 
feel comfortable till I have displayed yon at St. Clond. 
Will it be convenient for yon to come now?” 

Gwynett was a little cnrions to meet the redoubtable 
princesse Palatine, whose outspokenness had become pro- 
verbial throughout Europe. So he replied, 

“I am quite at your service, monseigneur.” 

The regent and Gwynett went down to the courtyard, 
entered the state-carriage which was in waiting, and drove 
off to St. Cloud, where the princesse was domiciled in an ' 
entirely unpretending fashion. On their arrival they were 
ushered into a little cabinet, where the daughter of the 
elector Palatine and widow of “Monsieur,” the late king’s 
brother, was chatting with a lady in out-of-door costume. 
This visitor was madame de Caylus, niece of madame de 
Maintenon, and a famous leader of the society of the 
period. 

The princesse was a woman of rather over sixty years of 
age. According to her own description of herself she had 
big, hanging cheeks, a large face, a small, squat, ugly 
figure, eyes almost too small to be seen, and villainous 
hands. But the face and figure thus candidly described 
were respectively not without a certain vivacity and dig- 
nity, and the princesse was accustomed to proclaim (chiefly 
for the benefit of her inveterate foe madame de Main- 
tenon) that she knew she was liked by all honest people. 

When the regent presented his guest, the princesse dis- 
carded ceremony and shook Gwynett by the hand with 
great heartiness. 

“I am delighted to see you, M. le chevalier,” she said. 
“It is a pleasure 1 never expected. Come and see me 
whenever you can, and go away the moment you have 
had enough of it. Thank heaven, we are not at Ver- 
sailles, where people get exiled for being bored !” 

The regent and madame de Caylus laughed. Every- 
body knew that the latter, for saying that the court was 
dull, had been forbidden to come to Versailles for more 
than a dozen years by Louis XIV. But she had been re- 
stored to favor for several years past, and had revenged 
herself by holding a salon in Paris which nobody ever ac- 
cused of being dull. 


68 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Monseigneur is more likely now to exile the bores/’ 
she said. 

“That would mean emptying Versailles, madame,” re- 
plied the regent. “I shall adopt a more drastic measure 
than that. You know I am a very vindictive sort of per- 
son.” 

“Well ?” asked the princesse. 

“My mother, I shall leave the place alone.” 

“But the court, my son?” asked the princesse, with an 
appreciative grin. 

“As to that,” replied the regent, “I have the impres- 
sion that my nephew’s health will be improved by the air 
of Vincennes. For myself, I find the Palais-Royal as com- 
fortable as I can desire.” 

Madame de Caylus seemed rather interested in this 
announcement. 

“Is this a secret, monseigneur?” she asked. 

“Not in the least, madame.” 

“I ask, because I am on my way to St. Cyr.” 

“By all means. Do me the favor to tell the marquise 
that I shall have the honor of waiting upon her in a day 
or two.” 

Madame de Caylus, who was much attached to the mar- 
quise, looked a little alarmed at this programme. 

“I think, monseigneur, you must excuse me,” she said. 
“My aunt has had much to try her of late, and ” 

“You are quite right, madame,” replied the regent 
drily. “ ‘Sufficient for the day,’ etc., etc.” 

Madame de Caylus went off, and the princesse turned to 
Gwynett with a request that he would be seated and con- 
sider himself at home. 

“You seem a very honest lad,” she observed approvingly. 
“Don’t let my son spoil you, either by precept or ex- 
ample. He is one of those fools who are never satisfied un- 
less they can make themselves out worse than they are. 
His one ambition is to pose as a little Satan.” 

“Bear all this in mind, chevalier,” said the regent cheer- 
fully. “My mother is a wonderful judge of character.” 

“Hold your tongue,” retorted the princesse. “Never- 
theless, M. le chevalier, he is really a very good sort of 
fellow at bottom, and that vexes me. Why should he 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


69 

spend all his time in giving a handle to that pack of hypo-' 
crites and toadies at Versailles?” 

Gwynett was not exactly prepared with a reply to this 
inquiry, and the princesse went on, 

“These pretenders to saintliness turn my stomach, M. le 
chevalier. But that does not make it any the more pleas- 
ant for me to hear my son’s name used by every enemy 
of religion. What is your religion, monsieur, if I may 
ask ?” 

“I was brought up a Protestant, madame.” 

“So was I,” remarked the princesse, who was a little 
apt to be discursive in her conversation. “When I ar- 
rived at the frontier, on my way to be married here, they 
sent three bishops to convert me, as part of the bargain. 
Each of them taught me something different to the other 
two, but by picking out what suited me I found I could 
become a very passable Catholic. If they had done the 
same with those poor Cevennois it would have been all 
right. But the dragonnades and the war in the Palatinate 
were simply damnable; I have never forgiven either the 
great man or the old woman for those things.” 

These terms were usually employed bv the princesse 
to designate Louis XIV. and madame de Maintenon. The 
regent, who knew that any reminiscence of the desolating 
of her native country by Louvois invariably excited his 
mother to fury, endeavored to create a diversion by saying, 

“Madame, these matters were a little before the cheva- 
lier’s time.” 

“That is true, and they have made me forget my choco- 
late,” replied the princesse, ringing a bell. “But all the 
same, M. le chevalier, these people have been so atrocious 
that my son is an ass to put himself in the wrong with 
them.” 

A lady-in-w T aiting entered at the sound of the bell. 

“Send Thekla with my chocolate,” said the princesse. 

The lady went out, and the princesse continued her 
diatribes against Louis XIV. and madame de Main- 
tenon. 

“All this shows what we get from petticoat govern- 
ment,” she remarked finally. “We have a prowerb in Ger- 
many, M. le chevalier, that 'where the devil cannot go him- 


70 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

self, he sends an old woman/ He must be rather busy 
at St. Cyr.” 

At this moment a cup of chocolate was brought in on a 
salver by a bright-looking, handsome girl of about sixteen, 
whose face seemed vaguely familiar to Gwynett. 

“As you know, Philippe,” went on the princesse, “I am 
not fond of having men-servants about me. This is a 
granddaughter of your old nurse Tausch. Her mother is 
settled at Nonancourt.” 

The regent nodded good-naturedly, and the girl executed 
a profound curtsy. 

“Her father and grandfather were both butchered when 
Heidelberg was sacked by that demon Louvois,” explained 
the princesse, gulping down her chocolate. “This is per- 
fect swill,” she added snappishly to the maid. 

. “On the contrary, madame,” retorted the girl promptly, 
“J made it myself, and it is just as usual.” 

“Perhaps it is,” returned the princesse, without appear- 
ing to resent the contradiction. “I cannot taste anything 
when I am in a bad temper.” 

She took another sip, and the girl, with the freedom she 
was obviously accustomed to use, bent down and whispered 
in her car. 

“Madame, this is the gentleman I told you about.” 

“What’s that?” asked the princesse. 

“When my little cousin Chariot was so ill at the Rue des 
Poissonniers, madame.” 

Gwynett caught the words, and then recollected that 
this was a young girl whom he had seen occasionally three 
years before when he was lodging in the house of one 
madame Dubut in Paris, and who had grown up to wo- 
manhood in the interval. The princesse, who was evi- 
dently not at all above gossiping with her dependents, 
looked at Gwynett with a little curiosity. 

“I recollect something about that,” she said. “So this 
is the healer by the laying-on of hands. You must explain 
your apostolic gift to my son,” she added to Gwynett. 
“He is greatly interested in anything of that sort, and in 
a lot of other things which he had much better leave 
alone.” 

The regent asked for an explanation, which Gwynett, 
who was rather afraid of some absurd exaggeration, un- 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


V 

dertook to give later on; and shortly afterwards the vis- 
itors took their leave. 

“Yon may consider yourself in my mother’s best books, 
chevalier/’ remarked the regent, as they drove back to the 
Palais-Royal. “It is not often I dare introduce any of my 
friends to her, even if they dare to be introduced. Her 
readiness to call a spade has been rather inconven- 
ient in a court like ours. It might do very well in the 
Palatinate, where I fancy they are mostly very honest 
folk. Here, you see, we are all obliged to be liars, and 
most of us choose to be scoundrels as well — only we do not 
say so out loud. My mother does, and that shocks people. 
They say she has no manners.” 

The regent put his head out of the window at the mo- 
ment, and bowed to the occupant of a carriage which they 
were passing. 

“Lord Stair, confound him!” he muttered. “Coming to 
the Palais-Royal, no doubt. If you can invent some potion 
in our laboratory, chevalier, for turning Whigs into Jaco- 
bites, you will immensely oblige me. The way that ex- 
cellent gentleman has pestered me for the last year about 
M. de St. George has been a nightmare, and now, of course, 
he will be worse than ever. Naturally, we have no preju- 
dices in favor of the house of Hanover. But I, for one, 
am satisfied that it will be more trouble than it is worth 
to violate the treaty of Utrecht. Nevertheless, your lord 
Stair, will have it that every mother’s son of us is aiding 
and abetting the Pretender in a descent on Great Britain — 
which will be a pure farce, if it ever comes off. M. de St. 
George is not a William of Orange, whatever his friends 
in England may think.” 

The regent had scarcely alighted at the Palais-Roval 
when lord Stair’s carriage followed into the courtyard, and 
the ambassador sent in to request an audience. The re- 
gent, who found a roomful of ministers and officials await- 
ing his return from St. Cloud, made a rueful grimace to 
M. de Tesu, his secretary, and went to receive the earl in 
his private cabinet. 

“Monseigneur,” said lord Stair, after the usual greet- 
ings had been exchanged, “permit me to express the ex- 
treme gratification with which my royal master will receive 
the news of your investment with the regency. I am en- 


72 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

abled beforehand to assure you that this auspicious event 
will be regarded as a complete ratification of the terms of 
friendship now happily reigning between our respective 
countries.” 

“You are very good, milord,” replied the regent, bowing. 
“I need scarcely say I reciprocate fully the sentiments you 
are charged to express on behalf of his majesty the king of 
England, and nothing will be wanting on the part of my 
government to show my solicitude for the maintenance of 
our good relations.” 

“I felt sure that such would be the case, monseigneur, 
and I am therefore emboldened to make a representation 
in connection with the state of affairs in Lorraine.” 

“Always the same story,” groaned the regent to him- 
self. “Well, milord,” he proceeded aloud, “what has the 
duke been doing now?” 

Leopold, duke of Lorraine and ancestor of the present 
Austrian house of Hapsburg-Lorraine, had been for some 
time the rather unwilling but very generous host of the 
chevalier de St. George. When the latter, in accordance 
with the treaty of Utrecht, had been obliged to withdraw 
from the French dominions proper, the duke had 
placed the chateau of Bar-le-duc at the Pretender’s dis- 
posal, and had treated his guest with a degree of con- 
sideration and hospitality which had made a somewhat 
unfavorable impression at the court of St. James’s. To 
remove this impression, Leopold had recently sent oyer to 
London a diplomatic agent in the person of a certain M. 
Lambertye. 

“As to the duke,” replied lord Stair, “we have nothing 
to complain about. His majesty was a little sore at first, 
and would not see M. Lambertye when he came over. But 
that was arranged satisfactorily, and the duke’s explana- 
tions removed all difficulties.” 

“I saw M. Lambertye as he passed through Paris on his 
return to Nancy,” said the regent. “I was very greatly 
interested in one result of his mission, which alone would 
have made his visit to England a circumstance of the 
first importance.” 

“What was that, monseigneur?” asked Stair, with a cer- 
tain air of gratification. 

“He brought back a new kind of potato,” said the re- 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


73 


gent. “I never tasted anything like it. He was good 
enough to give me a few seed-tubers, and I have two gar- 
deners at Mo'nceaux exclusively engaged in cultivating it. 
I wish every political mission resulted as fortunately.” 

Lord Stair was not always quite certain whether the 
due d’ Orleans was to be taken seriously or otherwise. So 
he ignored this excursion, and returned to his text. 

"But, monseigneur, if we are satisfied with M. de Lor- 
raine, it is quite otherwise with the people at Bar-le due. 
Probably you are aware that the chevalier de St. George is 
constantly received by M. le prince de Vaudemont at Com- 
mercy. As we continue to receive assurances that a flight 
is contemplated, you will see that M. de Vandemont’s 
action gives us double trouble. We have to keep watch 
not only over Bar-le-duc, but over the chateau de Com- 
mercy as well.” 

“Really, milord, I can scarcely see that we are con- 
cerned in all this. If we are to be held responsible for the 
society M. le chevalier selects in Lorraine, he might as 
well be in France again. We have to keep up St. Germain 
practically for nothing. The ex-queen of England makes 
very little use of it, and from what you say I almost think 
your government had better throw out the suggestion that 
M. le chevalier should return thither.” 

“Bless my soul, monseigneur!” exclaimed the ambassa- 
dor, “that is not in the least what I had in view. What 
we want is your highness’s active assistance in dealing with 
any evasion from Lorraine. M. de St. George must cross 
France to reach Havre ” 

“Why Havre?” asked the regent innocently. 

“We have it on the best authority that there are at 
least three or four ships with stores and arms collected 
there, awaiting the chevalier’s arrival.” 

“That does not seem probable,” replied the regent, who 
knew very well that Louis XIV. had provided the ships 
in question. 

“Our information seems to be reliable, monseigneur. 
May we assume that your highness will order the discharge 
and detention of these munitions of war, on sufficient evi- 
dence being shown of their intended destination?” 

“On sufficient evidence, certainly.” 

“I thank your highness. The matter is in the hands of 


74 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

admiral Byng, who is cruising off Havre, and will prob- 
ably furnish me with the necessary information in a few 
days. In the meantime, I hope we may rely on your 
highness’s direct assistance in preventing any departure 
of M. de St. George from Bar-le-duc, or in intercepting 
him should he actually start.” 

“We will, of course, act upon any representation you 
may find yourself able to make, milord. But I venture to 
suggest that you should not attach too much importance 
to mere rumors, or even to any casual movements of M. le 
chevalier. He is rather a restless sort of person, and, like 
the rest of us, prefers to do exactly the reverse of what 
other people want him to do. For my own part, I often 
wonder king George does not insist on his living in Lon- 
don.” 

“Good heavens! monseigneur, of what are you talking?” 

“I am talking of persuading the chevalier to remain in 
Lorraine. But of course you know best. Rely on us, in 
any case, to do all in our power to carry out our treaty ob- 
ligations ; and do me the favor to convey my sentiments of 
the highest consideration to his majesty the king of Eng- 
land.” 

The earl accepted this as a polite dismissal and went 
off rather better satisfied than he had been for some time 
past. 

As soon as the door closed upon him, a very fine set of 
leather bindings, on half a dozen-bookshelves in a corner, 
swung out into the room, and the abbe Dubois emerged 
from behind. 

“Well?” asked the regent. 

“That is all right, so far,” replied the abbe. “I only 
hope you will keep it up, monseigneur.” 

“Abbe, I tell you candidly I would send the fellow to 
the devil for two sous. It is not our business to play spy 
and bum-bailiff for these Hanover people.” 

“Monseigneur, grumble and swear to your heart’s con- 
tent, so long as you do what you are told.” 

“Abbe, your modesty and self-effacement almost bring 
tears into my eyes.” 

“If you are going to set up for a statesman, monseism- 
eur, make me an archbishop and let me escape before you 
bring the whole world about your ears.” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


75 


“You would look such a shocking scarecrow in a mitre, 
abbe, that I am afraid I shall have to leave things as the}' 
are.” 

“Monseigneur,” said the abbe, at the door, “one is not 
obliged to wear a mitre, when one has a red hat in ad- 
dition. I am sure your highness would be delighted to give 
that dear cardinal de Rohan a new colleague so much to 
his taste.” And the abbe went out chuckling. 

“I wonder where my worthy tutor intends to stop,” 
mused the regent, as he returned to the council of min- 
isters. 


7 6 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A CONVERSATION AT ST. CYR. 

T HE three or four days following the famous sitting 
of the parliament of Paris were occupied by the 
regent in forming the various councils of state 
promised during the discussion upon the late king’s will 
and codicil. Of these bodies it need only be mentioned 
that the marquis de Torcy was accorded a seat at the coun- 
cil of regency, that the due de Noailles was placed at the 
head of the finances, and that marechalde Berwick declined 
‘to form part of the council of war. Per contra, he re- 
quested a seat at the council of regency, which the due 
d’Orleans, out of consideration for the susceptibilities of 
the English government, felt obliged to refuse. 

At eight o’clock on Friday morning the regent drove out 
of Paris to call upon madame de Maintenon at her famous 
institution for young noblewomen at St. Cyr. This place 
had been the great hobby of the last thirty years of her life, 
and had been endowed by Louis XIV. to the amount of four 
hundred thousands livres a year. Thither its foundress 
had been in the habit of going at least every other day, and 
often as early as six o’clock in the morning, ever since its 
opening in 1682 — doubtless finding the role of deputy- 
Providence to a couple of hundred adoring young ladies 
an agreeable change from the anxieties and annoyances of 
her equivocal position at Versailles. 

As the regent approached the gates of the Maison de 
St. Louis, a couple of clerics emerged on foot, engaged in 
earnest conversation. One of these was pere Tellier, and 
the other a thin, slight man with deep-seated, fiery eyes and 
an expression of extreme nervous excitability. The regent 
stopped his carriage, and saluted the royal confessor very 
politely. 

"Still here, my dear pere Tellier?” he asked the Jesuit, 
with a certain significance in his tone. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


77 

“As you see, monseigneur,” replied the confessor de- 
fiantly. “And why not ?” 

“Only that you are worrying poor d’Argenson to death, 
mon pere.” 

“I do not quite see how my proceedings can interest the 
lieutenant-general of police, monseigneur.” 

“Why, he is responsible for the safety of the public, mark 
you, and he expects every half-hour to hear of somebody 
slitting your windpipe. He knows that that would annoy 
me enormously.” 

“Monseigneur is very good to say so.” 

“Well, you see, people would probably assume it was 
done to please me; whereas, as you know, I wish you all 
health and prosperity.” 

“M. d’Argenson concerns himself quite needlessly about 
me, monseigneur.” 

“I hope it may turn out so. I think I have not the 
pleasure of knowing your friend.” 

The confessor frowned, and then introduced his com- 
panion. 

“I have the honor,” said he, “to present father Innis, 
confessor to M. le chevalier de St. George at Bar-le-duc.” 

The regent raised his hat. 

“My dear father Innis,” said he, “confer a favor on me 
by persuading our worthy pere Tellier that the air of Bar- 
le-duc is a good deal more wholesome than that of Paris. 
You will do him a service also, unless I am very much 
mistaken.” 

“Where my duty is, I am, monseigneur,” said pere Tellier 
austerely. 

“Even in that case, mon pere,” observed the regent, 
“there is a convenience in not having one’s throat cut.” 

“The blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church,” put 
in father Innis, with a little flourish. 

“As you please, messieurs.” 

The regent saluted the two confessors, and signed to his 
coachman to go on into the courtyard. The priests resumed 
their walk in the direction of Paris. 

Madame de Maintenon had been warned by madame de 
Caylus of the regent’s probable visit, and was sitting with 
her friend and factotum mademoiselle d’Aumale when M. 
d’Orleans was announced. The companion was filled with 


78 Gwvnett of Thornhaugh 

virtuous indignation at the intrusion of this atrocious 
representative of the male sex into the saintly atmosphere 
of the “Dames de St. Louis.” 

“Madame,” she protested to the marquise, “it is simply 
a profanation. Let me persuade you to refuse to see M. 
d’Orleans.” 

“My dear friend, that will not help matters. M. d’Or- 
leans has at all events the merit of candor, and he is prob- 
ably in haste to announce the worst he has in store for us. 
It is well that we should know the worst, although, after 
the sacrileges of last Monday, I am prepared for any- 
thing.” 

“Does madame then think that St. Cyr is threatened?” 

“My dear, as M. d’ Orleans has been the mortal enemy 
of everything I hold sacred, it is easy to guess where he 
will strike his first blow. He knows that St. Cyr is the 
very apple of my eye. After St. Cyr, I myself must ex- 
pect to be despoiled, to prevent my carrying on the work 
which we have brought to such perfection.” 

“Ah ! madame,” sighed the companion reverentially, “it 
will be a second Calvary for you to see St. Cyr suffer.” 

“I am resigned, as was our Master,” observed the mar- 
quise, who found nothing unsuitable in mademoiselle 
d’Aumale’s allusion. “Pray for me, my dear friend, that 
T may endure and forgive the injuries I am about to have 
heaped upon me.” 

The marquise went off to the plain little reception-room 
where the regent was waiting. The two antagonists sa- 
luted each other with great ceremony, and the marquise 
remained standing. 

“This room is, perhaps, a little out of place for the regent 
of France, monseigneur,” she said coldly. “But unfor- 
tunately we have no other in which we can suitably receive 
visitors.” 

“It is as good as most of those in the Bastille, madame,” 
replied the regent cheerfully, “and I am quite satisfied with 
it as an alternative. Do me the favor to be seated. I hope 
I am not inconveniently early for you, but I thought it 
best to allow time for a leisurely discussion of the matters 
in which we are mutually interested.” 

The marquise sat down with the air of a hedgehog on 
guard, 


A Dead Man's Shoes 79 

“I am at your disposal, monseigneur, although I can 
scarcely imagine we have any interests in common.” 

The regent bowed, and seated himself opposite the mar- 
quise. 

“Let us recall a little of the past, madame,” he remarked 
blandly, “in order that we may better decide upon the foot- 
ing on which we are to stand in the future.” 

The marquise inclined her head without speaking. 

“It has happened, madame, that on more than one oc- 
casion you have done me the honor to take certain steps — 
or cause them to be taken — affecting my position and in- 
terests.” 

“Monseigneur, I have always endeavored to do my 
manifest duty, at whatever sacrifice of my own ease, leisure, 
or inclination.” 

“I am sure of it, madame. When you caused me to be 
recalled from my command in Spain, at a moment when 
my military successes were just upon the point of securing 
the expulsion of the Imperialist forces and the firm estab- 
lishment of my cousin on his throne, I have no doubt you 
acted from motives of the highest consideration for my 
welfare. You probably reflected that further successes 
might make me conceited, and that it is injurious to a man 
to allow him to get conceited.” 

“Monseigneur, you probably know better than anyone 
else by what motives you were actuated while in command 
of the royal forces in Spain.” 

“Madame, if his late majesty and yourself sent me to 
Spain in order to lose battles, I am bound to say you care- 
fully concealed your wishes. If my own stupidity pre- 
vented me from divining those wishes, I can very well 
imagine you were annoyed when I was so mal a propos as 
to keep on disregarding them.” 

The regent took a pinch of snuff, and continued, 

“When I returned from Spain, my dear marquise, I was 
virtually exiled from court for three years. No one knows 
better than yourself that the atmosphere of Versailles is 
detrimental to the morals, and one can understand that you 
should desire to keep me out of temptation. Recognizing 
that, I have always felt very much indebted to you. Un- 
fortunately the absent are always in the wrong, and I dare- 


80 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

say, madame, yon found it too troublesome to be continual- 
ly defending me.” 

The marquise pressed her lips together, but made no 
reply. 

“After that, madame, there occurred a series of deplor- 
able fatalities in out family. The hand of death was busy 
with those who might have looked forward to wearing a 
crown. Doubtless it seemed natural to you, madame, to 
feel certain I had guided that hand.” 

“Why should you suppose it would seem natural, mon- 
seigneur?” asked the marquise icily. 

“Eh! how should I know? Perhaps because when one 
finds a stone in one’s path, one kicks it aside. If you never 
suspected, or suggested, or asserted anything of the sort, 
madame, of course I shall be delighted to hear it.” 

“I never accused you, monseigneur.” 

“That is a charming piece of news, madame. But how 
unlucky that all your friends fancied it would please you if 
they accused me! Let me see — was it not M. du Maine 
who wanted a chambre ardente? I forget.” 

“I have never pretended, monseigneur, that our court 
excelled in thinking no evil.” 

“Pardieu! no. They used to gossip abominably about 
the death of poor M. de Louvois, as I daresay you recol- 
lect — and all because he was understood to have violently 
opposed the king’s intended announcement of his marriage 
with yourself, madame.” 

“These are atrocious calumnies, monseigneur,” said the 
marquise, turning a little pale. 

“Of course,” assented the regent. “But when M. de 
Louvois’ physician committed suicide in an agony of re- 
morse, after raving about some crime or other he had been 
persuaded to commit in order to gratify somebody’s spite, 
you could hardly expect people not to chatter.” 

The marquise made no reply, but became paler than be- 
fore. 

“At the same time,” proceeded the regent, “all that is 
not my business. But decidedly, madame, your methods 
of showing your good will towards me have of late been 
surprisingly obscure. If I were not convinced of the con- 
trary, I should almost suppose that the king’s will and 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


81 


codicil had been designed to place me at some little disad- 
vantage. What do you think, madame?” 

The marquise was rather slow in finding an answer. 
Then she replied, 

“You may rest assured, monseigneur, that in the ar- 
rangements that he made his majesty was guided by no 
considerations but those of the welfare of the monarchy .” 

“I have no doubt of it, madame. But it is possible that 
the ideas of his majesty and — say — of M. du Maine, with 
regard to the welfare of the monarchy, might have dif- 
fered a little. If his majesty had any personal conviction 
that the welfare of the monarchy required me to be put in 
the Bastille, or got out of the way even more effectively 
still, he took a good deal of pains to prevent my being 
aware of it. And in any case, madame, it is needless to 
say I should have disagreed with that conviction. Hence 
the proceedings of last Monday, which I fear may have 
disappointed you somewhat.” 

“Since his majesty's death, monseigneur, I have absolute- 
ly nothing to do with the court, the government, or the 
world ; and you mistake very much if you assume the con- 
trary.” 

“I am surprised and grieved to hear it, madame — all the 
more because I came here assuming, as you say, the con- 
trary, and hoping to be able to arrange something on that 
understanding.” 

The marquise looked a trifle disconcerted at this an- 
nouncement, and replied, 

“I have not refused to listen to anything that you have 
to say, monseigneur.” 

“You are very good, madame. I will, then, trespass 
upon your attention for a moment while I explain to you 
the position in which I find myself.” 

The regent helped himself again to snuff, paused a sec- 
ond or two, and then went on, 

“You will understand, madame, that while I myself am 
prepared to see nothing but good will and consideration in 
the various little circumstances to which I have alluded, 
it is otherwise with my friends and advisers. I need not 
tell you that the burden of sovereignty borne so long and 
so ably by his late majesty is one altogether too heavy for 
me, and that I shall therefore have to rely implicitly on 


82 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

the aid of the ministers and councillors who will have the 
honor of serving our youthful monarch in their various 
capacities.” 

As this exordium did not enlighten the marquise, she 
listened in silence. 

"It grieves me much, madame,” continued the regent, 
"to have to say that the gentlemen who constitute the dif- 
ferent councils of state, and by whose advice I shall feel 
bound to act in future, entertain very strong ideas with 
regard to yourself and M. du Maine, and to pere Tellier — 
not to speak of various other people. They say, for in- 
stance, that you have all done your utmost to injure my 
position, to deprive me of my rights, and to jeopardize even 
my personal safety, that you are enraged at your failure to 
grasp the reins of government, and that if you are at lib- 
erty there will not be an hour of the day or night that will 
not be occupied by intrigues and conspiracies to undermine 
my authority and oust me from the regency. And they in- 
sist that I should nip all this in the bud by sequestrating 
your income and property, exiling pere Tellier, and 
clapping M. du Maine in the Bastille. Shocking, is it 
not ?” 

The marquise maintained an impassive countenance. 
But the watchful regent glanced at the hands folded upon 
her knee, and saw the knuckles suddenly whiten. 

"It appears to me, monseigneur,” she said, "that you are 
as badly advised by your new ministers as by your old 
boon companions.” 

"Perhaps you are right, madame. But I can assure you 
they argue the thing very well— very well indeed. Forin- 
stance MM. d’Argenson and de Noailles, who are to deal 
with our police and our finances, pull deplorably long faces 
over M. du Maine and over your old allowance of four 
thousand livres a month.” 

"I do not see the connection,” observed the marquise 
curtly. 

"It is quite simple,” replied the regent suavely. "It 
seems our finances are in a frightful mess. According to 
de Noailles, we could only just manage to carry on before 
his majesty’s death. And now M. d’Argenson wants an- 
other four thousand livres a month — just the amount of 
your allowance, you will perceive — for police expenses to 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


83 

keep watch on M. du Maine. You see, he takes it for 
granted that M. du Maine will' not fail to conspire against 
me, and he has further the idea that you will supply him 
with funds for the purpose. So he insists upon putting 
these funds to what he calls their proper use, in defending 
his majesty’s government against intriguers and conspira- 
tors.” 

“So, then, monseigneur, I am to be despoiled because 
M. d’Argenson chooses to invent intrigues and conspir- 
acies ?” 

“You think it is all invention, madame?” 

“I am sure of it, monseigneur.” 

“I wish I could convince d’Argenson of that. But you 
know he is an obstinate fellow. It will take all my time 
to keep M. du Maine out of the Bastille, I can see, unless 
his friends can get him to be reasonable. One can hardly 
expect that, perhaps — eh, madame?” 

The marquise seemed for a second or two to be making 
some sort of inward struggle. Finally she remarked, with 
a slight change of tone in her voice, 

“I need scarcely say, monseigneur, that any little influ- 
ence I may possess will be exerted, as a matter of course, in 
the direction of persuading M. du Maine to respect the 
decision of the parliament of Paris — a decision to which I 
understand he was, in effect, a consenting party. Any 
other course would, in my opinion, be as unjustifiable as 
unwise.” 

“M. d’Argenson will hear your views with great relief, 
madame, I feel certain. Where he would have to get his 
extra four thousand livres a month, in case M. du Maine 
disregarded your advice, I am sure I don’t know. It is a 
very awkward thing to find his majesty’s coffers so empty. 
Still, I hope M. de Yoailles will see his way, in spite of 
M. d’Argenson, to continue your usual allowance. If not, 
I venture to trust, madame, that I have made clear my 
own wishes in the matter, and that you will not lay at my 
door any little inconveniences that may result from M. 
du Maine choosing to perpetrate some betise or other.” 

The regent rose as if to terminate the conversation, and 
the marquise followed his example. 

“A propos, madame,” said he, as he moved towards the 
door, “if you see pere Tellier again, convey to him the as- 


84 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

surance of my profound consideration, and of my anxiety 
about his health.” 

“He is quite well, I believe ,” said the marquise, looking 
a little surprised. 

“Indeed?” replied the regent negligently. “Someone 
was saying that the air of Paris was not good for him just 
now. A mistake, probably. I have the honor to wish you 
a good morning, madame — unless, by the way, you will be 
so obliging as to present me to some of your charming 
'protegees 

The regent made this suggestion with the air of pro- 
posing the most natural thing in the world, and the mar- 
quise gave a visible shudder. 

“That would be against our rules, monseigneur.” 

“What a pity !” lamented the regent, with perfect grav- 
ity. “Tell them from me, madame, that I have their wel- 
fare at heart, and that there is no true happiness except 
in the path of virtue.” 

The regent passed out into the entrance hall, and re- 
marked, as he stopped to look around, 

“Let me see — the income assigned to St. Cyr is four 
hundred thousand livres a year, is it not, madame ?” 

“Yes, monseigneur.” 

“So de Noailles said,” murmured the regent, half to 
himself. “There is no doubt the duke will make a sharp 
financier.” 

This aside disturbed the marquise more than all the rest 
of the conversation. 

“Monseigneur,” she said hastily, “it would be sacrilege 
to touch a revenue dedicated to heaven.” 

“Just what I have said to M. de Noailles, madame,” re- 
plied the regent, in a candid tone. “You see, it is the worst 
of these new brooms that sometimes they want to sweep 
too clean. Still, it is a good fault. At the same time, 
there is nothing decided — that is, in the way of making 
any change.” 

The marquise, somewhat reassured, attended the regent 
to the door. Arrived there, she paused a moment, and 
then remarked, with the perfunctory air of a person who 
endeavors to. discharge an unwelcome obligation, 

“Permit me to say, monseigneur, that you are perhaps 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 85 

looking in the wrong direction for a disturber of the se- 
curity of your government.” 

“Ah ! You think that, marquise ? And where should I 
look, then ?” 

The marquise glanced cautiously around, and said 
slowly, 

“If I undertake to answer for M. du Maine, monseign- 
eur, it is not so with madame la duchesse. You must 
deal with her yourself, and I advise you to take some pre- 
cautions in that quarter.” 

The regent bowed, and kissed his fingers to some invisi- 
ble personage. 

“I see I shall have to make love to madame du Maine,” 
he said. “Adieu, madame — I shall retain a charming 
recollection of our most agreeable interview.” 

The regent entered his carriage and drove away, while 
madame de Maintenon returned to mademoiselle d’Aumale. 

“Ah ! madame,” cried the companion, “what an ordeal ! 
What are the monsters going to do ?” 

“Pooh !” said the marquise curtly, “nothing is going to 
be done, mademoiselle, that I am aware of. When there is, 
I will inform you of it.” 


86 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER IX. 

NOLO MARTYEARI. 

A BOUT a mile from the Paris barrier the regent’s 
coachman turned round upon his seat, and re- 
marked, 

“Pardon, monseigneur, but there is a great crowd com- 
ing this way. They are pursuing some fugitives.” 

“Draw the carriage across the road,” replied the regent. 
“I suppose one will be expected to assist at this sort of 
thing,” he muttered to himself, “although it is a deplor- 
able departure from all my principles.” 

In a couple of minutes the crowd, shouting and flinging 
missiles, could be seen chasing before them two men in 
clerical garb, whose clothes were bespattered with mud and 
whose faces were bleeding. The fugitives, panting and al- 
most exhausted, reached the carriage, and one of them 
cried, 

“Help, monseigneur! or this canaille will murder us 
before your eyes !” 

“Is it possible !” ejaculated the regent. “Father Innis — 
and pere Tellier, too ! Keep close to the carriage, mes- 
sieurs, I beg of you, while my servants try to temper the 
enthusiasm of your followers ” 

The regent ordered his two mounted grooms to advance 
and keep back the crowd, which was done without much 
difficulty when the regent was recognized. Then he turned 
to the two clerics. 

“What has happened, messieurs?” he asked urbanely, 
“and what can I do for 3^ou?” 

Father Innis was the first to reply. 

“We were attacked by this mob ten minutes ago, mon- 
seigneur, and have barely escaped with our lives. You 
will, I hope, give us the protection of your carriage ?” 

“Of course — such as it is. But unfortunately, as you see, 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


87 

I have too small an escort to prevent the mob taking yon 
out of the carriage on onr way to Paris and hanging yon, 
if they have a mind that way. On the other hand, if you 
run away towards Versailles, some of them will probably 
overtake you.” 

Pere Tellier maintained a vengeful silence, and glared at 
the murmuring crowd, which increased every moment. But 
father Innis continued to implore the regent’s protection. 

“Surely, monseigneur, they will not venture to attack 
your equipage or your escort ?” he said. 

“Do you mind leaving the matter in my hands, mon- 
sieur?” asked the regent. 

“How can you ask, monseigneur? Do whatever you 
please, only save us from these tigers,” exclaimed the 
Jacobite. 

The regent alighted from the carriage, and advanced to- 
wards the fringe of the mob, which was beginning to hustle 
the two grooms and their horses. He was received with 
loud cheers. 

“Gentlemen,” said he, raising his hat, “What do you 
want with these two persons you are running after?” 

A chorus of execrations rose in reply. 

“It is the Jesuit ! Down with Tellier ! The black coats 
a la lanterne !” was yelled on all sides. 

“Gentlemen,” proceeded the regent, “I am sure you do 
not wish to disoblige me.” 

“Vive monseigneur le regent !” was the pretty unanimous 
reply. 

“Very good. How I don’t suppose that pere Tellier has 
done any of you any harm, whereas he is my bitterest 
enemy, as most of you know.” 

“We know it ! Down with the Jesuit !” roared the crowd. 

“Certainly,” replied the regent. “But, gentlemen, as I 
have a crow to pluck with pere Tellier on my own account, 
I hope you will not spoil sport by interfering.” 

The crowd cheered without exactly understanding, and 
the regent turned to the two grooms. 

“Take a piece of rope and bind those two fellows hand 
and foot,” he called out loudly. 

This was promptly done, and the two priests, secured by 
a dozen yards of cord and a multitude of knots, were 
placed by the regent’s further orders, in the front seat of 


88 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

the carriage. These proceedings were vociferously ap- 
plauded, and as the grooms resumed their position in front 
of the carriage the crowd surged round the equipage to 
jeer at the prisoners. The regent took his seat, signed to 
the coachman to start, and shouted in stentorian tones, 

“To the Bastille !” 

A roar of applause followed, the mob parted right and 
left, and the carriage set off at full speed for the barrier. 

“Gentlemen,” said the regent, as soon as the crowd was 
left behind, “accept my apologies for my method of getting 
rid of your assailants. It was the only one that occurred 
to me at the moment. But if it fails to meet with your 
approval, do not hesitate to say so, and I will put you in 
the road again.” 

“On the contrary, monseigneur,” replied pere Tellier 
stiffly, “we are indebted to }^ou for the stratagem you have 
employed.” 

“I need not say, gentlemen, that I will take you wherever 
you please. If a sojourn in the Bastille will serve any 
purpose of yours, you have only to say so.” 

“Holy Virgin!” exclaimed father Innis, in alarm, “you 
are not serious, monseigneur ?” 

“It might have the appearance of a little persecution, 
my dear father Innis, if you are seeking such a thing. I 
understood you to say this morning that the blood of 
martyrs is the seed of the Church. From that point of 
view, I confess I am a little surprised that both of you 
should make such a fuss about being murdered by our 
friends yonder. Why should you object? Everybody 
would know that pere Tellier, at all events, owed his la- 
mented end to the thoroughness with which he had done 
his duty. With what eclat you would both have departed 
this life! especially as our Holy Church has been deplor- 
ably short of effective martyrs lately. It is surely a pity 
that the Protestants should be able to brag of their forty 
01 fifty thousand Slaughtered saints’ and that we should 
shirk providing even a couple of roval confessors. Do vou 
not think so, pere Tellier?” 

“I have n ot your highness’s proficiency in jesting ” re- 
plied the Jesuit sourly. 

“Jesting!” returned the regent, “I was never more 
serious so much so that I begin already to regret my ill- 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 89 

advised interference. How it would have covered the 
Societe de Jesus with glory to have one of its chiefs butch- 
ered for conscience’ sake! Hitherto, you see, you have 
done all the butchering yourself, mon pere, and people find 
nothing particularly saintly in that. I am afraid we shall 
all look a little ridiculous, as it is. For myself, I do not 
mind. But it is distressing to have to exhibit you to the. 
populace of Paris trussed like a couple of fowls, and blue 
with fright. Will you not, on second thoughts, go back 
and be martyred ? You will cut a much better figure, one 
would think.” 

Father Innis grinned a ghastly smile at this suggestion, 
and pere Tellier looked sourer than before. But neither 
of the two confessors seemed disposed to qualify for canoni- 
zation at this particular juncture, and the carriage pro- 
ceeded on its way to the Palais-Royal. 

Driving through Paris, the coachman made very slow 
progress, but he explained this by saying that one of the 
horses had sprained itself when the carriage was drawn 
across the road. Thus the two confessors, amidst the 
regent’s continual laments and apologies, were a good deal 
on view, and their appearance provoked amusement and 
amazement along the whole of the route. 

Arrived at the Palais-Royal, the regent had his com- 
panions unbound and offered them the hospitality of the 
palace. This pere Tellier declined with the best grace at 
his command, and went away with his colleague, under 
the protection of a couple of the Garde Royale. They di- 
rected their steps to the lodging of the Jacobite, dismissed 
their escort with thanks, and went indoors to remove the 
outward and visible signs of their recent adventure. 

Pere Tellier stood before a mirror and surveyed his 
muddy and blood-smeared countenance with a sardonic 
smile. Then he turned to Father Innis, and remarked, 

“My dear friend, I was wrong and you are right. It is 
clear there is nothing to be done under this accursed re- 
gency. The work of thirty years destroyed in a moment 
by an infidel, a libertine, and a buffoon ! Satan is certainly 
loose again. But, as you say justly, England opens its 
arms to us. We will set off to-night for Bar-le-duc.” 

“I rejoice that we shall have your invaluable aid,” ob- 
served the Jacobite, who was sponging his nose over a 


90 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

basin. “Still more that I have been the instrument of se- 
curing it.” 

“Honor to whom honor,” replied pere Tellier. “It was 
not your arguments, my dear friend, but the last shower of 
brickbats, that did the business. I found that convincing 
enough, I assure you.” 

“Thus good comes out of evil,” philosophized the Jaco- 
bite, as he carefully placed a piece of sticking-plaster 
across the bridge of his nose. 

********* 

In the evening the regent went to pay a short visit to 
madame de Valincour, and found her busy with the abbe 
Dubois. 

“Comtesse,” said he, “you may, if you like, get up a little 
song of Miriam about me, for I have triumphed glorious- 
ly. If I have not cast the horse and his rider into the sea, 
I have at least upset the ass and his drivers into the mud.” 

“Which drivers, monseigneur?” asked the comtesse. 

“The two chief ones — the rest are hardly worth troubling 
about. On Monday, as you know, we managed to make 
M. du Maine a dry-nurse instead of a dictator. To-day I 
have converted la Scarron into a wet blanket, and pere 
Tellier into a scare-crow.” 

“Let us hear the details, monseigneur.” 

“I went to St. Cyr this morning, and persuaded madame 
de Maintenon, in return for forty-eight thousand livres a 
year to prevent M. du Maine from conspiring against me.” 

“Rather an expensive precaution, monseigneur,” grum- 
bled the abbe. “I hope you will not have wasted your 
money.” 

“My money ? It was her money — I do not see how one 
could bribe more cheaply than that.” 

“Ah!” said the comtesse. “Then you threatened her 
with the loss of her allowance if M. du Maine gives any 
trouble ?” 

“I daresay my remarks might be twisted into something 
of the sort. In addition, I fancy she derived the impres- 
sion that de Noailles would be rather glad of an excuse to 
sequestrate the endowment of St. Cyr. We parted on quite 
affectionate terms — so much so, that she warned me that 
the duchesse was not so much under her thumb as M. du 
Maine.” 





























































































































































































* 






. 



































































A Dead Man’s Shoes 


91 


“There is a good deal in that,” said Dubois. 

“And about pere Tellier?” asked the comtesse. 

The regent narrated the circumstances of his meeting 
with the two confessors, and their subsequent entry into 
Paris. 

“My coachman managed rather cleverly,” he went on. 
“You would have thought the horses were all dead lame as 
we crawled along the Rue St. Honore. Everyone could 
get a view of pere Tellier, as he sat looking like what they 
call a Guy Fawkes over in England.” 

“What was father Innis doing in Paris?” asked the 
comtesse. 

“Probably trying to persuade pere Tellier to join M. de 
St. George, who is welcome to him. I only hope nobody 
will be so idiotic as to do him a mischief before he sets off. 
That would put him on a pedestal again. As it is, folks 
will not be able to speak to him for laughing.” 

“It seems to me, monseigneur, that your way of reveng- 
ing yourself is at least as good as other people’s,” remarked 
the comtesse. 

“I wish I could enjoy being vindictive/’ said the regent, 
taking up his hat. “It must be a great pleasure. My 
mother used to say that at my birth the fairies endowed 
me with all the talents except that of making use of them, 
which was omitted by some spiteful imp who had not been 
invited to the ceremony. I suppose that accounts for my 
deficiency.” 

“And what will you do with madame du Maine ?” 

“Really I am at a loss there. If I could get her to one 
of my suppers I should die happy. That, by the way, re- 
minds me that I am late already. So au revoir, comtesse.” 

The regent went away, leaving Dubois and madame de 
Valincour to continue their conference. The abbe sat in 
silence for a while, and then remarked to his companion, 

“Monseigneur managed pretty well at St. Cyr, 
.comtesse ?” 

“From his point of view, doubtless,” replied madame de 
Valincour. 

“And from yours, comtesse?” 

“From mine, abbe, it appears that the sooner we entirely 
undo what monseigneur has done, the better.” 

“How, madame?” 


92 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Clearly, abbe, if anything comes of the interview this 
morning, it will be that the du Maines will be kept quiet/’ 

“Certes. Is not that rather desirable? We are not ab- 
solutely out of the wood yet, and it is no use expecting 
monseigneur to cut down any of the trees.” 

“Abbe, if we were merely seeking peace and quietness, 
that would be an argument. But we are not.” 

“Granted, comtesse. But what of that?” 

“It is quite simple, abbe. You and I are still agreed 
upon our policy of an alliance with England and a war 
of conquest against Spain?” 

“Assuredly — when we can pick a quarrel there. But 
that will not be easy just at present.” 

“Exactly — hence the utility of M. du Maine.” 

“Explain, comtesse.” 

“Do you suppose, abbe, that king Philippe is satisfied to 
be excluded from his right to the French succession, sup- 
posing the little king were to die ?” 

“Not he.” 

“And the little king is very likely to die?” 

“Very likely, I imagine.” 

“Good. It is admitted that M. du Maine is too remote 
to think of the crown, although he is quite a possible 
regent.” 

“Without doubt.” 

“And king Philippe detests M. d’ Orleans as heartily as 
M. du Maine does?” 

“More, one would fancy — seeing that M. d’Orleans came 
pretty close to being at the Escurial instead of his cousin.” 

“Naturally, then, king Philippe would prefer M. du 
Maine as regent, while waiting for the little king’s possible 
death and his own succession to the throne of France?” 

“In spite of his renunciation and the treaty of Utrecht, 
comtesse ?” 

“Pooh ! abbe, where would king Philippe be now, if peo- 
ple kept treaties any longer than they chose ? Let us look 
things in the face. What would be more natural that a 
conspiracy between M. du Maine and king Philippe to oust 
M. d’Orleans from the regency and put M. du Maine in 
his place, with the understanding that if Louis XV. dies, 
M. du Maine shall proclaim Philinpe king of France in 
spite of the renunciation, and shall himself be left in power 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


93 

as viceroy in case Philippe finds it better to remain at 
Madrid ?” 

“That would be a surprisingly good idea. But I am 
satisfied that there is no such conspiracy — as yet.” 

“Precisely, abbe — as yet.” 

“Well, comtesse?” 

“Therefore, abbe, there must be one — and as soon as 
possible.” 

“A conspiracy against monseigneur ?” 

“Of course.” 

“And why, comtesse?” 

“Because there are three inestimable advantages to be 
gained by it. In the first place, to detect a conspiracy 
against the regent will enormously strengthen his posi- 
tion — and one can always detect conspiracies of one’s own 
arranging; secondly, it will provide an excellent ground 
for extinguishing M. du Maine ; and thirdly — which is vital 
to our programme — it would not only put us at daggers 
drawn with Spain, but afford the amplest justification for 
a guerre a V outrance with her.” 

The abbe stroked his chin reflectively. 

“And you therefore conclude, comtesse, that M. du 
Maine should be allowed to conspire ?” 

“More than that, abbe. He must not only be allowed, 
but encouraged — and if the ideas we have been discussing 
are not in his head already, or the duchesse’s, they must 
be put there.” 

“By whom?” 

“What a question! Am I to feed you with a spoon, 
abbe ?” 

“You are quite right, comtesse. I am never ashamed 
to learn, and I confess you have a knack of teaching that 
astonishes me.” 

“Then you agree with me ?” 

“Entirely, comtesse.” 

Madame de Yalincour mused for a minute, and then re- 
sumed, 

-“Recollect above all things, abbe, that while we are on 
good terms with Spain, you and I are hanging on the 
breath of the little king. But from the moment we are at 
war with the only other descendant of Louis XIY., Louis 


94 Gwynett of Thornhaug-h 

XV. may die as soon as he pleases — for M. d’Orleans will 
then be the sole possible king of France.” 

“That is very true,” said the abbe, taking np his papers. 

“And by the way, abbe,” added the comtesse in conclu- 
sion, “monseigneur may as well be allowed to remain under 
the impression that he did something clever at St. Cyr 
this morning. There is no use in making people dissatis- 
fied with themselves for nothing.” 

The abbe rose, and nodded in acquiescence. Then he 
waved his hand by way of adieu, opened the door, and 
went away very thoughtfully. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


95 


CHAPTEE X. 

A VISIT TO THE BASTILLE. 

A S the Versailles physicians objected with one voice 
to the inconvenience which would be entailed upon 
them by the little king’s removal to Vincennes, the 
regent decided to rely on the advice of the court doctors 
from Paris, to whom the transfer was a matter of indiffer- 
ence. These gentlemen at once obediently discovered that 
the air of Versailles was not sufficiently bracing for a 
weakly child. So on Monday the royal household was 
transferred to the chateau of Vincennes, the king travel- 
ling in company with his gouvernante madame de Venta- 
dour, the regent, the due du Maine, and marechal Villeroi. 

Early the following morning the regent, accompanied 
by M. de Torcy, went to the laboratory, where Gwynett 
was busy with the still incomplete alterations. The mar- 
quis greeted him with his usual cordiality, and the re- 
gent, after inspecting the progress that had been made, 
inquired. 

“May I ask, M. de Starhemberg, if you happen ever to 
have been in the Bastille?” 

“No, monseigneur.” 

“Nor I, so far. Would you care to accompany us on a 
visit of inspection we are paying this morning?” 

“If I were sure of recovering my appetite within a rea- 
sonable time, monseigneur, I should be very much inter- 
ested to see the place — or at all events one cell there. I 
believe it is known as the fourth Baziniere.” 

“Why that one in particular, chevalier?” 

“A friend of mine spent seventeen years in it, mon- 
seigneur.” 

“Diable! what became of him?” 

“He escaped, between three and four years ago. Bather 
unfortunately, as things turned out.” 

“Monseigneur,” remarked de Torcy, “there is a very 
curious story connected with the circumstances to which M. 


96 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

de Starhemberg alludes. Some day or other you might 
ask the chevalier to tell it you." 

“By all means, chevalier," said the regent. And no 
time like the present, if you are willing." 

Gwynett looked a little doubtfully at M. de Torcy, and 

asked, . 

“Are you satisfied that that would be altogether dis- 
creet, M. le marquis?" 

“So much so, chevalier," replied the marquis signifi- 
cantly, “that I think you may be quite explicit on all the 
details with which you are acquainted. As to the earlier 
part of the affair, I can perhaps say something about that 
myself, afterwards." 

As M. de Torcy evidently considered the regent would 
be not only a safe but possibly a useful confidant of his 
adventures, Gwynett at once told the story of his former 
visit to France and its disastrous sequel — to all of which 
the regent listened with the greatest interest. 

“Really, chevalier," he remarked at the close, "if I were 
not convinced to the contrary, I should suspect you to be 
a colleague of our worthy M. Galland. Certainly your 
adventures would figure quite respectably in another vol- 
ume of the Arabian fables he has been foisting upon us 
the last ten years.* I need not say your confidence shall 
be respected absolutely — unless, by the way, I can use any 
influence to put matters straight for you. As soon as I 
am a little firmer in the saddle, I should like to get a re- 
vision of your sentence from the English government — or 
a pardon, as they seem to call it over there. That is, if 
you have no objection." 

“On the contrary," replied Gwynett, bowing. “But I 
need not point out, monseigneur, a failure would be as 
annoying to you as it would be inconvenient to myself." 

“We must manage not to fail. It will only be a ques- 
tion of putting salt on milord Stair’s tail, and we shall 
do that before long, I have no doubt." 

Arrived at the Bastille, the regent and his party were 

* “The Thousand and One Nights” (popularly known as “The 
Arabian Nights”) were first translated and published by Antoine 
Galland in Paris, between 1704 and 1717, in twelve volumes 
12mo, and were denounced by most other Orientalists as 
spurious. 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


97 


received by the governor, M. de Bernaville, and conducted 
over the second drawbridge into the chateau, where the 
lieutenant-du-roi made his appearance. Asking after the 
fourth Baziniere, Gwynett learnt that, owing to a case 
of illness of some duration, the usual occupant of the cell 
had been provided with a companion. At the regent’s sug- 
gestion they went up to the cell, which was at the mo- 
ment empty, thanks to its being the hour for prisoners 
taking their exercise on the parapet at the top of the walls. 
Gwynett examined with keen interest the surroundings 
amongst which its previous tenant had spent so many 
years, and was filled with wonder at the vigor of mind 
and body which had survived such an ordeal almost un- 
impaired. 

After leaving the cell the party adjourned to the coun- 
cil-chamber in the cross-wing between the two towers 
called the “Chapelle” and the “Liberte,” and the regent in- 
quired about the two prisoners in the fourth Baziniere. 

“One is rather a recent arrival here,” replied the lieu- 
tenant-du-roi. “But his companion, whom we put there 
to join him a few weeks back, is our doyen. I do not 
know exactly how long he has been here, but certain lv h^ 
is our oldest inhabitant. He used to be in the calotte, but 
he became rheumatic, and we put him with Ho. 4.” 

“I will see these two men,” said the regent, as he seated 
himself at the council-table. “After that I fear I shall 
make myself a nuisance, M. le lieutenant — I am going to 
ask you for the letters de cachet of all your lodgers.” 

“It will take some time, monseigneur,” replied the lieu- 
tenant, with rather a languid air. 

“Hot if you get all your staff to help you,” returned the 
regent, in a tone which told the lieutenant he had made a 
mistake. “There is nothing I detest more than being kept 
waiting.” 

The lieutenant disappeared instantly, and the regent 
turned to de Bernaville, who was giving Gwynett a few 
details about the former occupant of the fourth Bazin- 
iere. 

“What is the total annual allowance for the keep of 
your delightful lodging-house, my dear governor?” he 
asked. 


98 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

M. de Bernaville calculated for a few seconds, and then 
replied rather reluctantly, 

“Probably about a hundred and forty thousand livres, 
on an average, monseigneur.” 

“Peste!” muttered the regent half to himself, “that is 
a good deal to pay for making three or four dozen poor 
devils uncomfortable. One could be spiteful more cheaply 
than that, I should imagine.” 

“Monseigneur,” put in de Bernaville hastily, “our ex- 
penses are very heavy, as you are doubtless aware. And 
some of our prisoners require to be treated with great con- 
sideration.” 

“No doubt,” said the regent. “For instance, what would 
M. du Maine have paid you to take care of me, if things 
had gone the other way on Monday week?” 

“Really, monseigneur ■” stammered the governor. 

“Pooh ! don’t affect modesty, my dear M. de Berna- 
ville. I suppose you have a tariff for folks of my sort?” 

“Monseigneur, the allowance for princes of the blood 
is fifty livres a day.” 

“And you would have made me comfortable and fed me 
decently ?” 

“From my own table, monseigneur — and I have an ex- 
cellent chef. Ask M. de Torcy.” 

“I attest his abilities with enthusiasm,” replied de Tor- 
cy, “although I have only once had the opportunity of 
forming an opinion about them. It was that very night,” 
he added in an aside to Gwynett. 

“Heavens !” ejaculated the regent, “and all this for fifty 
livres a day?” 

“Certainly, monseigneur.” 

The regent threw himself back in his chair with the air 
of a man who has made up his mind. . 

“And it costs me a couple of thousand at the Palais- 
Royal ! My major-domo must be the biggest thief in Eu- 
rope, or out of it. I will hang him the minute I get 
back, and you shall have his place, my dear M. de Berna- 
ville — that is settled. It is quite clear your talents are 
utterly wasted here.” 

At this moment the lieutenant entered with a handful 
of papers, which he laid upon the table before the regent. 
These were lettres de cachet . 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


99 


“Here are some to go on with, monseigneur,” he said. 
“But they are, of course, the most recent — we have not 
yet got at those of the fourth Baziniere.” 

The regent turned over a dozen of the orders. Nine 
out of the twelve were countersigned by the chancellor 
Yoysin. 

“Hm!” said he. “For Yoysin, read pere Tellier. Let 
us see.” 

He looked through the nine lettres de cachet and then 
passed them over to de Torcy. 

“What did I tell you?” he asked. “These are all for 
heresy, blasphemy, and attacks on religion. That means 
that they have been making themselves unpleasant to pere 
Tellier and his colleagues.” 

The marquis looked at the orders, and replied, 

“In two or three cases, certainly — I recollect some lam- 
poons. Possibly in the others also.” 

“M. le lieutenant,” said the regent, “bring in all these 
gentlemen, one after the other.” 

This order was promptly carried out, the persons named . 
being one after the other brought into the council-cham- 
ber, and questioned by the regent. It appeared that in all 
the nine cases the cause of imprisonment was the same — 
namely, that the prisoners had satirized or denounced or 
actively opposed the court influence of the Jesuit faction. 

As soon as the list was gone through and the last case 
dealt with, the regent ordered all the prisoners to be in- 
troduced in a body. 

“Gentlemen,” said he to them, “I daresay you have all 
. deserved, like the rest of us, to be put in the Bastille for 
something or other. But your nominal offence does not 
strike me as being very heinous, and his majesty cannot 
afford the expense of maintaining you merely to please 
madame la marquise de Maintenon and some of her 
friends. If I turn you all into the street, can you find 
supper and lodging for to-night?” 

“Certainly, monseigneur,” cried the astonished culprits 
with one voice. 

“Yery well,” said the regent. “M. de Bernaville, in spite 
of the long face he is pulling, will open the door for you, 
and you can be off as soon as you choose. I notice with 
regret that the cut of your clothes is a little behind the 

LofC. 


ioo Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

fashion, which is perhaps natural. If yon will call upon 
M. le due de Noailles to-morrow morning at the Treas- 
ury, he will hand you five hundred livres each towards a 
new wardrobe — but on one condition.” 

“Name it, monseigneur,” said the senior prisoner, as 
spokesman for the rest. 

“It is simply, gentlemen, that none of you will go and 
do a mischief to pere Tellier while he remains in Paris. 
Otherwise you will earn for me a reputation for being 
spiteful, which would annoy me very much. As to what 
may happen at Bar-le-duc, or elsewhere, I don’t care a 
sou ” 

“You may rely on us, monseigneur, and accept our most 
grateful thanks,” replied the prisoners. 

The regent bowed and waved his hand. 

“I am rather busy,” he said. “M. de Bernaville, will you 
be so good as to hand these gentlemen their belongings, 
and dismiss them ? Adieu, messieurs.” 

The governor rose with a depressed air, and accompa- 
nied the released prisoners out of the room. The regent 
made some notes from the orders, and jotted down a row 
of figures. 

“There go forty-five thousand livres of expense per an- 
num,” he remarked. “I am sure, M. de Torcy, you will 
admit my administration of justice promises to be eco- 
nomical.” 

“If this goes on,” replied the marquis, “poor de Berna- 
ville will be a pauper before dinner-time. Nevertheless, 
you have probably made a few friends, monseigneur.” 

“I wish I could think so. But I rather fancy that when 
these gentlemen get outside, it will occur to them that in 
common fairness I ought to have given them a thousand 
livres each instead of five hundred. Then they will go 
round Paris telling everybody I have robbed them of the 
balance.” 

The lieutenant-du-roi here entered with some more or- 
ders. 

“These two, monseigneur,” he said, presenting a cou- 
ple, “are those of the two prisoners in the fourth Bazin- 
iere, which you asked for specially — Petroni and Grivois.” 

“Which is the elder?” 

“Petroni, monseigneur.” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


101 


The regent ran his eye over the document. 

“Pietro Petroni, Italian, aged thirty/ ” he murmured. 
“Dated 16.80.” 

“Thirty-five years !” ejaculated Gwynett. “Why he has 
spent more than half his life here. What was his offence, 
monseigneur ?” , 

“There is none mentioned,” replied the regent. “Pheli- 
peaux countersigns, I see. What does your register say 
about this prisoner, M. le lieutenant?” 

“Nothing, monseigneur. I took care to look up that 
entry, before bringing you the order.” 

“Any other particulars about him?” 

“None, monseigneur, except that he was brought from 
Marseilles.” 

“Let us have him here and do me the favor to inquire 
amongst the staff if anyone has ever heard anything of his 
offence.” 

The old prisoner was brought in and saluted the party 
with an air of calm indifference. He had still the dark 
complexion of the south, but his hair and patriarchal 
beard were snow-white. 

“You have been here a long time, M. Petroni ?” said the 
regent. 

“Yes, monseigneur.” 

“Why were you brought here?” 

“I have not the slightest idea, monseigneur.” 

“What was your offence?” 

“I never knew.” 

“How were you arrested?” 

“I was a wine-merchant in a small way at Hyeres. One 
day I took some casks of wine to Marseilles in my felucca. 
I went to a cabaret to dine. There the police arrested me, 
and took me off to jail. After a week or two, I was 
brought here. They never told me why.” 

“You must have done something or other to get your- 
self into trouble.” 

“Impossible, monseigneur. I was always an honest man. 
I attended to my business, and meddled with nothing 
else.” 

“Had you any enemies?” 

“I knew of none.” 

The lieutenant-du-roi here entered and informed the 


102 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

regent that nothing whatever was known or reported about 
the prisoner’s history or offence. 

“That was the time of the ' chambre ardente’ on the 
La Yoysin affair/’ remarked the regent to de Torcy. “I 
suppose there has been some idiotic blunder.” 

The marquis nodded, and the regent sat in silence for a 
minute or two, with an unusual frown on his forehead. 
He looked again at the lettre de cachet, and then said to 
the prisoner, with a return to his wonted nonchalance, 

“It appears to me, M. Petroni, that some little apology 
is due to you. If there ever was any reason for your being 
in this piace, which I very much doubt, nobody seems to 
have taken the trouble to mention it. Whoever put you 
here most likely went away and forgot all about it— which 
was rude. It may console you to reflect that by this time 
he is probably dead and in that case is doubtless more or 
less uncomfortable. Let us hope so. In the meantime, if 
there is anything we can do for you, besides setting you 
free, you will confer a favor on me by naming it.” 

The prisoner looked rather alarmed at the last sentence, 
and stammered, 

“Set me free, monseigneur ?” 

“At once, M. Petroni.” 

“But I shall die of starvation, monseigneur.” 

“Certainly that shall not happen, my friend. We will 
send you back to your native place, if you wish. You have 
relatives and friends, no doubt, whom you will be glad to 
see again.” 

“If they are not all dead, monseigneur, they will long 
ago have forgotten me.” 

“I suppose you had some property at Hyeres ?” 

“It will have been divided thirty years since among my 
heirs. They will not thank me for coming back.” 

“I suppose you have no friends in France?” 

“Not one, monseigneur.” 

The regent mused a little and then asked, 

“What, then, are your wishes, M. Petroni?” 

“Can you not leave me where I am, monseigneur? I 
am too old to get accustomed to fresh places or fresh 
people.” 

The regent gulped something down his throat, and 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


103 

looked half reproachfully at de Torcy. The marquis un- 
derstood him, and replied hastily, 

“Monseigneur, it is some little satisfaction to me to 
recollect that I have never countersigned a lettre de ca- 
chet, r 

“And I have been told my uncle signed about nine 
thousand while he reigned. It is damnable. We shall all 
pay for this some day,” added the regent prophetically. 
Then he turned to de Bernaville, and said, 

“My dear governor, you will receive M. Petroni as my 
guest, and treat him as a prince of the blood. Give him 
everything he asks for, and let him go to and fro, or in 
and out, exactly as he pleases. Will that meet with your 
approval, M. Petroni?” he asked of the prisoner. 

“Mon seigneur is very good,” replied Petroni, who was 
apparently only able to realize that he would not be dis- 
turbed. 

“Have you any other request to make, my friend?” 

The old man looked dubiously towards the governor, 
and then said slowly, 

“Mon seigneur, there is a gentleman in the same room 
with me ” 

“Well?” 

“He has been very kind to me, especially once or twice 
when I was far from well. If monseigneur would set him 
free, I am sure he would be thankful — although I shall 
be sorry to lose his company.” 

“Jules Grivois,” put in the lieutenant-du-roi, handing 
an order to the regent. “He has been here about three 
years.” 

“What for?” 

“As a matter of fact,” said de Bernaville, with a dis- 
creet smile, “he was in the household of M. du Maine, and 
there was some gossip about madame la duchesse.” 

“That sounds promising,” chuckled the regent. “Bring 
him here. If we can do nothing more for you, M. Pe- 
troni, I will say good morning to you, and trust the re- 
mainder of your stay here will be entirely to your lik- 
ing.” 

The old man thanked the regent with a very relieved 
expression of countenance, and bowed himself out. Of 
his subsequent career, history unfortunately says nothing. 


104 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

His companion was next introduced into the council- 
chamber. M. Jules Grivois was a gentlemanly man of 
about forty, with a little of the swagger of a soldier, and 
a good deal of the air of a court lickspittle. 

“You have been here three years, M. Grivois ?” 

“I have not kept count exactly, monseigneur ?” 

“You are aware of your offence?” 

“No. But I can guess.” 

The regent smiled. 

“We hear you have done some little kindness to your 
companion in No. 4, when he has been ill.” 

“So he says. As a matter of fact, the poor devil’s 
groans kept me awake, and I nursed him more on my own 
account than on his.” 

“He has, at all events, interceded for your release. 
What would you do outside if you were set at liberty, M. 
Grivois ?” 

“Apply to your highness for employment,” replied Gri- 
vois promptly. 

“Diable! you had better stay where you are, then. I 
cannot stop the mouths of half my own friends, as it is.” 

“Monseigneur, the abbe Dubois would not say so.” 

“You know him?” 

“Very well, monseigneur. I will engage that he can 
find me something to do.” 

“You can try, if you like. Let this bird out of the 
cage, M. de Bernaville, and convey my apologies to M. du 
Maine, if he comes to you to grumble about it.” 

“Monseigneur,” said the prisoner, “you shall have no 
cause to regret your clemency.” 

He bowed and went out with the lieutenant-du-roi, and ' 
M. de Torcy took the opportunity of leading off Gwynett 
to examine the prisoners’ library in the room on the oppo- 
site side of the landing to the council-chamber. 

The regent went expeditiously through the remainder 
of the prisoners. Three more victims of the Jesuit clique 
were released, and several others whose offences were 
purely political, including a quartette of pamphleteers 
who had satirized madame de Maintenon with more wit 
than prudence. After the list of prisoners had been ex- 
hausted, half the cells were empty, and M. de Bernaville, 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


105 

whose emolument largely depended on the number and 
rank of his prisoners, was in despair. 

“Monseigneur,” he lamented, “your clemency is doubt- 
less deserved by these people. But permit me to observe 
that by exercising it in this wholesale way, you have half 
ruined me.” 

“My dear governor, you are crying out before you are 
hurt. This week de Noailles and I are going to overhaul 
the accounts of the receivers and farmers-general of taxes. 
Unless the age of miracles has returned, you shall have a 
whale for each of your sprats within a month.” 

This intelligence restored the governor’s equanimity, 
and as dinner was now announced, Gwynett and de Torcy 
were summoned, and the party adjourned to M. de Berna- 
ville’s house in the Cour du Gouvernement. 


io6 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XI. 

HOW M. JULES GRIVOIS FOUND EMPLOYMENT. 

T HE regent’s promised onslaught on the public finan- 
ciers resulted in a considerable accession of funds 
to the royal treasury. M. Regnault, the receiver- 
general of Paris, was fined one hundred thousand livres for 
discrepancies in his accounts, and the promptness with 
which this was paid led to its forming a standard by 
which a great many other culprits were mulcted. Most 
of the latter were primarily under suspicion by reason of 
their ostentatious personal and domestic expenditure, but 
these gentry were by no means the only ones from whom 
restitution of ill-gotten gains was effected. 

One morning the regent dragged M. de Noailles into his 
laboratory to be an unwilling inspector of certain new ap- 
paratus which Gwynett had just arranged on the model of 
those at Heidelberg. Some allusions were made to a 
method of extracting from its matrix the gold of some 
specimens of Peruvian ore which had been sent to the due 
d’Orleans from Spain a little while previously, and the 
treasurer remarked with rather a depressed air, 

“It seems to me, M. de Starhemberg, that what is wanted 
is a method of extracting gold from a financier’s concealed 
hoard, and not from a lump of quartz.” 

“If the hoards are concealed, M. le due,” asked Gwynett, 
“how do you know anything about them?” 

“Because these fermiers must have had the money, and 
yet they make no show, but live quite plainly.” 

“There is nothing surprising in that, M. le due. They 
are no doubt accumulating for their families, or to retire 
when they have secured a certain amount.” 

“But where is the money?” asked the treasurer peev- 
ishly. 

“As to that, M. le due, it would not be difficult to find 
an explanation.” 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


107 

“Find it, chevalier,” said the regent, “and make M. de 
Noailles happy.” 

“Monseigneur,” replied Gwynett, “you will pardon my 
saying that until of late France has not been an ideally se- 
cure place for investments.” 

“That is true. You think the money has been sent 
abroad ?” 

“I have no doubt of it.” 

“And to what country ?” 

“Monseigneur, I passed through Italy on my way to 
Spain four or five }'-ears ago, and had several friends in 
Venice. One heard a good deal there about French 
money.” 

“And what did you hear, M. le chevalier?” asked de 
Noailles eagerly. 

“M. le due, at that time Holland was closed to French 
subjects, and of course London also,' Thus Venice was the 
only great banking centre open to them. If I were in 
monseigneur’s place, I should simply make a formal de- 
mand, through the French ambassador to the Venetian re- 
public, for a list of French depositors in the banks there, 
and the amounts deposited.” 

“An admirable idea!” cried de Noailles. “It shall be 
acted upon at once — eh, monseigneur ?” 

“By all means,” assented the regent. 

In due course the information applied for was furnished 
in full from Venice, and revealed such a mine of purloined 
wealth in the hands of unassuming receivers and farmers- 
of-taxes that a golden stream of fines poured into the royal 
treasury for weeks after the initiation of proceedings. This 
incident did not by any means diminish the respect already 
entertained by the regent for his chief chemist’s ability 
and judgment, and he one day remarked to M. de Torcy 
that Gwynett ought to receive an extra salary as expert of 
all work. 

“A propos, mon seigneur,” replied de Torcy, “will you 
permit me ter ask what terms you have arranged with M. de 
Starhemberg ?” 

“I have not exactly arranged anything,” said the regent. 
“Dr. Scholtzius knew that poor Humbert received twelve 
thousand livres a year, and of course that holds good for 
his successor,” 


io8 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Then yon have not yet gone into the matter with the 
chevalier ?” 

“Not yet. Why?” 

"It would not be much trouble to do so,” replied the 
marquis with a shrug of the shoulders, “and it is better to 
have all these things on a definite footing.” 

The regent admitted this, and took an early opportunity 
of mentioning the subject to Gwynett, asking if the salary 
received by his predecessor was satisfactory to him. 

“This is the first I have heard of the question of salary, 
monseigneur,” replied Gwynett, with some surprise. 

“How is that, chevalier ?” 

“I cannot say. If Dr. Scholtzius had any instructions to 
mention it, he certainly omitted to do so.” 

The regent seemed rather put out by this intelligence. 

“That is a little unfortunate,” he said. “I find I have 
been utilizing your valuable services almost under false 
pretences. The salary received by M. Humbert was twelve 
thousand livres, and I took it for granted you came here on 
that understanding. But I beg you will say quite candid- 
ly if it does not meet your views, and we will make a re- 
arrangement.” 

“Monseigneur, it is not that way at all. It would be 
quite out of the question for me to accept anything — except 
your very lavish hospitality. I have some small means of 
my own, and it has been a rule with me to make them 
suffice for all my requirements. 1 came here to carry on my 
studies under very favorable conditions — not to take ad- 
vantage of your liberality. The obligation is on my side, 
since my expenses are really at a standstill while matters 
remain as they are. I shall very much regret if your high- 
ness sees any occasion to alter them.” 

The regent recognized that this was a polite way of say- 
ing that Gwynett would not stop unless he did so on his 
own terms, and he ceded the point with a certain amount 
of admiring amusement. 

“Keally, chevalier,” he said, laughing, “this is a sort of 
thing that takes one’s breath away. We have been accus- 
tomed at court to find all the daughters — and sons — of all 
the horse-leeches hanging on to our purses. And the richer 
the animal the harder it sucks, as a rule. But you must 
please yourself; and if any unforeseen circumstances lead 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


109 

you to change your mind we have only to assume that your 
salary has been accumulating since your arrival.” 

“I thank you very much, monseigneur.” 

After this conversation the regent spent more and more 
of his leisure in the laboratory, and frequently conferred 
with Gwynett upon matters of administration, inquiring 
especially into English methods of local government, man- 
orial customs, and systems of agriculture. 

At first Gwynett attached no importance to this circum- 
stance. But before long the abbe Dubois, who had until 
now kept up the habit of treating his former pupil’s 
scientific hobbies as beneath his notice, began to pay pretty 
frequent visits to the laboratory while the two experiment- 
alists were engaged there. In spite of, or perhaps by virtue 
of, the elaborate ministerial machinery which had been set 
up under the new regime , the abbe had, almost from the 
day of the regent’s accession to power, wormed himself 
into the position of being virtually prime minister “with- 
out portfolio.” It was evident from chance remarks of the 
regent that he had taken frequent occasion to quote opin- 
ions or statements of Gwynett’s to the abbe, and it was 
equally evident that the abbe’s visits were more or less due 
to this fact. Pie displayed such politeness and deference 
to Gwynett on these visits, coupled with such indications 
of interest in the work of the laboratory, that the regent 
one day remarked, as he was about to go out, 

“M. le chevalier, I congratulate you. You have almost 
made a convert of the abbe. Formerly he treated my 
laboratory as a sort of cross between a day-nursery and an 
idiot asylum. How he is very nearly ready to concede that 
an intelligent person may find some interest in it. It was 
only yesterday he was expressing his regret that we did not 
utilize your abilities in some more important capacity.” 

“M. l’abbe does me too much honor,” said Gwynett, go- 
ing on with his operations. 

“It is not a weakness of Dubois’ to do too much honor 
to anything or anybody, I can assure you,” remarked the 
regent, as he went off. 

This little dialogue moved Gwynett to serious cogita- 
tion. He extinguished his spirit-lamp, and sat down to 
think over the situation. 

“It was excessively stupid of me,” he reflected, “and I 


IIO 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

ought to have known better. This fellow is eaten up with 
ambition, has only monseigneur to look to for help to 
realize his ambition, and therefore has to be indispensable 
to him. Naturally, he assumes other people to be like him- 
self, and smells an interloper. Equally naturally he will 
try and arrange that there shall be no interloper to smell. 
It is a pity. I am quite comfortable here, and the regent 
is really a man one can spend time with. He never bores 
one, and some of his ideas are astonishingly good. I hope 
there will be no unpleasantness, on his account as well as 
on my own.” 

Gwynett’ s habits in Paris had by this time become pretty 
much a matter of routine. He generally rode ten or a 
dozen miles after breakfast and before beginning opera- 
tions in the laboratory. After leaving off work, he fenced 
for an hour most afternoons at maitre Paccini’s to keep his 
hand in. Certain evenings he devoted to reading at the 
great Bibliotheque Royale. The Palais-Royal suppers he 
had regularly eschewed after accepting a couple of invita- 
tions, as he found the society of the duke’s boon com- 
panions and the actresses of the Theatre Franpais a .trifle 
wearisome. But he usually spent a couple of evenings a 
week at the brilliant salons of madame de Caylus and 
madame de Yalincour, the latter of whom invariably ex- 
tended a welcome whose empresseme?it ought to have been 
more obvious to him than it actually was. 

All these occupations involved his return to his quarters 
after the evening had closed in. As the lighting of the 
streets of Paris was at that period extremely imperfect, he 
had followed the usual practice of going armed with a 
pistol in addition to his sword, and of keeping a sharp 
look-out for footpads and cut-purses at the corners of the 
darker streets. Hitherto, however, he had encountered 
nothing more inconvenient or suspicious than an occasional 
shadowing by nocturnal ramblers, who probably decided, 
on closer inspection, that Gwynett was the sort of person 
best left alone, and he had consequently become somewhat 
careless on the point. 

But after the abbe’s visits, as just detailed, he depided 
that a little extra vigilance would not be out of place, and 
accordingly took his walks abroad with exceeding circum- 
spection, 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


in 

For several days nothing occurred to justify his sus- 
picions, and he began to think that perhaps they had been 
exaggerated. One evening was very wet and stormy, the 
wind causing casements to creak and chimney-pots to 
tremble, while now and then pieces of tiling became dis- 
lodged and slid down the roofs into the eave-gutters. It 
was a Tuesday, and Gwynett had spent a couple of hours at 
the salon of madame de Valincour, who always received 
on that evening. He was returning home along the little 
Rue St. Louis, meditating on something in the manner 
of the comtesse towards him, which had for the first time 
forced itself upon his attention, when he noticed a couple 
of men in front who had kept pace with him for some little 
distance. Opposite the third house from the corner of the 
Rue St. Honore the pair stopped, and after a moment’s 
altercation, came to blows. One of the two fell on the 
sidewalk, and the other, leaving his companion on the 
ground, went into the house and shut the door after him. 

Gwynett quickened his steps, but before he reached the 
spot the fallen man had risen and limped round the corner, 
leaving on the ground a large cloak. Gwynett was stoop- 
ing to pick it up, when a violent gust of wind swung it into 
the air over his head with such force as to drag him back- 
ward a step or two. At the same moment he was struck on 
the left shoulder by some falling object, which reached the 
pavement with a loud crash. 

The blow, although deadened by the folds of the cloak, 
was sufficiently severe to make him reel sideways, lose his 
balance, and fall. But he was not much hurt, and got up 
instantly, disentangling himself from the fold of the cloak 
as he did so. On the ground beside him lay the fragments 
of a large chimney-pot, evidently the object by which he 
had been struck. 

At this moment the door of the house opposite Ho. 3 
opened and a man came out, who crossed over to where 
Gwynett was standing. 

“I heard a smash,” said the newcomer, “and this ex- 
plains it. I hope you are not hurt, monsieur ?” 

“I thank you — nothing to speak of,” replied Gwynett. 
“I believe this cloak took off most of the blow.” 

“That was lucky,” said the other. “I fancy the pots on 
that stack are a little shaky, for I saw a man taking one 


1 12 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

down just before dark, evidently expecting it to be blown 
over if it was left. And now here is another.” 

Gwynett had turned towards the light of the street lan- 
tern as the speaker concluded, and the latter went on, with 
a little surprise in his tone. 

“Why, it is M. de Starhemberg, surely?” 

“That is my name,” replied Gwynett, looking at his com- 
panion a little more closely, but not recognizing him. 

“If monsieur will do me the honor to recollect, I was his 
proprietaire three or four years ago in the Rue des Pois- 
sonniers, when monsieur earned my und}dng gratitude by 
saving my little Chariot that night he was at death’s door.” 

Gwynett now recognized in the speaker the public execu- 
tioner of the city of Paris, Charles Sanson,* from whose 
mother-in-law, madame Dubut, he had rented rooms on a 
former visit to Paris. 

“Ah ! it is M. Sanson, then ?” he replied. “Excuse my 
not recollecting you at the moment. And how is the little 
one ?” 

“The child is very well, monsieur, and grown up beauti- 
ful as an angel, in spite of losing his mother shortly after 
monsieur’s departure from Paris. Since then I have lived 
here,” pointing to the house opposite, “quite alone, and 
en gargon ” 

“I saw your niece the other day at St. Cloud,” said 
Gwynett. 

“Ah ! yes,” replied Sanson with some pride in his tone. 
“After my wife’s death Thekla returned to her mother at 
ISTonancourt — a good family of Heidelberg, monsieur, and 
several of them in the service of M. l’electeur Palatin, and 
of madame, duchesse d’Orleans.”f 

“Do you know these people opposite you?” asked 
Gwynett, who had the cloak over his arm. 

“Very slightly, monsieur. Can I do anything for you 
there ?” 

“If you have an opportunity you might say that this 
cloak belongs to the person whom the gentleman of the 

*Tt has elsewhere been mentioned tliat this Charles Sanson re- 
presented the second of the seven generations of the same name 
n688-1847) who filled the same office. It was Sanson V. who 
executed Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette. 

t The regent’s mother was known as ‘madame, duchesse 
d’Orleans’ ; his wife as ‘madame la duchesse d’Orleans. ’ 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


113 

house was good enough to knock down just here. Or keep 
the cloak yourself, if you can make any use of it.” 

“I will return it, monsieur, with your message. Will 
monsieur pardon my asking him a great favor?” 

“What is it ?” 

“If monsieur would be so good as to come into my house 
for a moment to look at my little Chariot ? He is asleep, 
and I was sure monsieur will say he never saw a more 
beautiful child.” 

Gwynett was not particularly anxious to extend his ac- 
quaintance with the “executeur des hautes oeuvres du roi”; 
but the man’s heart was so evidently in his request that he 
acceded to it without hesitation. Sanson accordingly led 
the way into the house, up a flight of stairs, and into a 
comfortably furnished room containing a large and a small 
bed. A small shaded lamp stood on a table, and by its light 
Gwynett was able to examine the features of the little boy, 
now about five years old, who was fast asleep in the cot. 
His golden curls strayed over the pillow, and his dark 
eyelashes rested like a shadow on the rosy velvet of his 
perfect oval cheeks. The father pointed to him with an 
expression of admiration and tenderness worthy of a Ea- 
faelesque Madonna. 

“Did you ever see the like, monsieur ?” he asked, holding 
up the lamp a little behind the head of the sleeping child. 
Gwynett mentally agreed that it was literally, as the 
father had said, the face of an angel ; and he whispered to 
Sanson, 

“You are quite right, monsieur. It is a beautiful sight 
to see.” 

Sanson put down the lamp, and whispered in return, 

“He has never had a day’s illness since you made that 
wonderful cure, monsieur. I thank you very much for 
coming in to see him, and hope you will excuse my tres- 
passing on your good nature.” 

“On the contrary, monsieur. It is a great pleasure to 
find him so healthy and well-grown.” 

“Perhaps, monsieur, the reason is partly that he has 
been living in the country for the last two years or more, 
at a little farm of mine. I thought that better for him 
than Paris. But his nurse, my tenant at the farm, died, 
and I brought Chariot back here a month ago.” 


1 14 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

Half-way down the stairs the two men stopped on a land- 
ing which commanded a view of the tiled roof of the house 
Ho. 3, opposite, with its chimney-stack and a dormer- 
window rising behind a parapet which extended along the 
eaves. The wind was still high, but the sky was clear, and 
a bright moon made everything visible. One chimney-pot 
was missing from the stack, and Sanson drew his com- 
panion’s attention to the gap. Gwynett looked at the stack 
and then at Sanson. 

“I see only one missing,” he said. 

“Yes. It is the one that fell on you, monsieur.” 

“Then where is the one you saw taken down this even- 
ing?” 

Sanson seemed a little puzzled, and stared at the roof 
again. 

“That is curious, monsieur. The man laid it on the flat 
of the roof, close to that dormer-window.” 

“If he left it there, it could not possibly fall into the 
street, unless it jumped over the parapet first.” 

“One would think so. Certainly, the wind comes in stiff 
gusts, but not stiff enough to lift a thing like that.” 

Gwynett noticed that the parapet did not extend the 
whole length of the eaves, and that the roof, over the place 
where the pot had fallen, sloped from the stack to the 
gutter without a break. He pointed this out to Sanson, 
who had no explanation to suggest of the difficulty, and 
then went down to the street door. 

J ust as this was opened by Sanson, a man and a woman, 
who were coming along the farther side of the street, 
stopped nearly opposite to exchange farewells. The man 
wore the garb of a parish priest, and as he stood in the 
moonlight, Gwynett was struck by something familiar in 
his face. 

“Do you know that person, monsieur?” asked Sanson, 
noticing Gwynett’ s gaze in the direction of the priest, who 
now moved off towards the Rue St. Honore. 

“I thought so, for a moment,” replied Gwynett. “Who 
is he?” 

“Pere Germont, monsieur — cure of a little place near 
Doullens, called Ste. Marie Geneste.” 

“That is he,” said Gwynett to himself. “I should cer- 
tainly like to find out some day what share the reverend 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


1 15 

gentlemen had in that little job at the presbytery, and who 
helped him to try and burn me alive.” 

He turned to Sanson, and asked, 

“Do you happen at all to know what sort of reputation 
pere Germont bears?” 

“As to that) M. le chevalier, one hears various things. 
Many .people praise his piety, and a few fools, who believe 
in sorcery, call him a sorcerer. I take it that means he 
spends some of his time in chemistry, like monseigneur le 
regent.” 

“Is he often seen in Paris ?” 

“Occasionally, monsieur. It is usually to bring herbs, 
distillations of perfumes, and medicines to the shop of his 
niece there, whom he has just left — madame Latour.” 

“Ah ! The herbalist of the Rue Beauregard ?” 

“The same, monsieur.” 

The woman remained standing where the priest had left 
her, and Gwynett recollected having once overheard a con- 
versation between his companion and madame Latour, in- 
dicative of tender relations between them. 

“Evidently I am delaying a tete-a-tete” he thought. 
“Good evening, M. Sanson,” he added aloud, and turning 
to go. 

“I thank you very much for your kindness, M. le 
chevalier,” replied Sanson earnestly. 

Gwynett went off, and the woman came slowly across the 
street, to Sanson. The latter pulled the door to behind 
him, and stood on the threshold with rather an indifferent 
air. 

“Who is your distinguished visitor, may one ask, M. San- 
son ?” inquired Latour, in a sour tone. 

“Discretion seals my lips, my dear Marie,” replied San- 
son blandly. 

“Someone who would rather borrow money from you 
than from the Jews, probably,” suggested Latour, with a 
sneer. 

“Probably — as you say, my dear Marie.” 

The woman was silent for a minute, and then observed 
with a good deal of suppressed resentment, 

“Ho doubt it has been absence from Paris that has kept 
you away from the Rue Beauregard for nearly a month, 
M. Sanson?” 


1 1 6 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“That is it, of course,” replied Sanson promptly. 

“A visit to the boy at your farm, perhaps?” 

“Certainly.” 

“And when do yon intend to bring him home again?” 

“I have not decided. He is doing so well in the country 
that it would be a pity to make a change.” 

The woman looked hard at Sanson, and remarked ag- 
gressively, 

“I should like to go and see him there.” 

“I see no occasion for your troubling yourself in the 
matter, my dear Marie.” 

“That is what you always say.” 

“True — perhaps because it is what I always think.” 

“If I am not to see your son, is that any reason why I 
should not see you ?” 

Sanson hesitated a moment. Then he replied in a bored 
tone, 

“Hone at all. In fact, I was quite intending to call upon 
you — one of these days.” 

“Which one?” 

“Hm! Let us say to-morrow — or the day after.” 

“Let us say to-morrow, and not the day after.” 

Sanson put his hand on the door-latch. 

“Very good,” he said resignedly. “That is arranged. 
And now, my dear Marie, as I see some neighbors com- 
ing up, permit me to suggest that we should tear our- 
selves apart. Adieu !” 

The woman looked at him for a moment, frowning, and 
then went away slowdy. Sanson heaved a sigh of relief, 
and opened his door to go inside. 

“To-morrow,” he soliloquized, “I must catch the mea- 
sles or something — that is quite clear. The constancy of 
our dear Marie is becoming insupportable.” 
**»*$***:' 

Meanwhile Gwynett had returned to the Palais-Royal, 
and was thinking over his narrow escape in the Rue St. 
Louis. 

“That pot seems to require explanation,” he ruminated. 
“It would be curious if it jumped up two feet and then 
fell more than a yard sideways. But there would be noth- 
ing curious in its being thrown.” 

He went back in imagination to the appearance of the 





A Dead Man’s Shoes 


n 7 

house-front, as he had seen it from Sanson’s stair-landing, 
and recollected that there was a solitary casement window 
on the third floor, almost exactly over the place where the 
cloak had been left lying. 

“Not thrown,” he decided. “Dropped. And now I 
think of it, that scuffle strikes me as being a little queer. 
Why didn’t the second man follow the first into the house, 
or try? And if the cloak was left on the ground by acci- 
dent, why did neither of the fellows come back for it? 
There was scarcely sufficient excitement for it to get for- 
gotten.” 

He sipped his coffee, and finally struck upon an idea. 

“If one wanted to do somebody a mischief quite acci- 
dentally,” he soliloquized, “it would not be a bad notion 
to cause him to stop exactly under a window, and then 
drop something on him that had an air of probability 
about it. Unless he stopped, it would be very easy to mis- 
calculate, and miss him. We have had a good many rough 
nights of late, and on any one of these a chimney-pot 
might have fallen very reasonably. It was quite an acci- 
dent that Sanson happened to see this one removed be- 
forehand. But why on me? Was I the first comer with 
a respectable appearance, and consequently liable to he 
mistaken for someone else? Per contra , I have nearly 
always come from madame de Valincour’s Tuesdays just 
about that time, and therefore I might be expected. Cer- 
tainly those two men took no trouble to find out who I 
was, and probably they knew already. It might be well 
to learn who lives at No. 3.” 

The next day Gwynett took steps to get this informa- 
tion, but the result did not tend to elucidate matters. 
The occupier of the house was a respectable clothier, who 
received a good many callers on business, and it would 
probably give offence to push inquiries any further. So 
Gwynett confined himself to walking in the middle of the 
street after dark, and preserving a strict neutrality with 
regard to any squabbles which came under his notice. 

But one night about a week later, coming home from the 
Bibliotheque Royale, his precautions were suddenly ren- 
dered useless by an attack made upon him by two men in 
the Rue St. Antoine. 

The pair ran from under an archway so quickly that he 


n8 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

had only just time to draw his pistol and fire it at the 
foremost. Unfortunately the weapon missed fire, and he 
therefore flung it with all his force at his assailant’s face. 
The fellow stopped short, and put his hands to his mouth 
and forehead with a volley of curses. 

The other, and taller of the two, advanced, sword in 
hand, and began a furious attack upon Gwynett. But the 
latter had no difficulty in making his opponent lose 
ground, and the man called loudly to his companion to 
give him help. The shorter man, who had been wiping 
the blood from his face, picked up a small hatchet, which 
he had dropped when first struck, and advanced to take 
Gwynett in the rear. , 

This danger was avoided by a dart sideways, which en- 
abled Gwynett to sweep his sword at arm’s length across 
the shorter man’s face before he could raise either arm to 
protect it. The man dropped his hatchet the second time, 
just as Gwynett made a lunge through his shoulder and 
then withdrew the weapon in time to be on guard for his 
other assailant. 

The renewed combat had not lasted a minute when the 
swordsman fell, mortally wounded by a thrust througli 
the chest. The short fellow had in the meantime stag- 
gered off, groaning, and made his escape round the 
nearest corner. 

Gwynett kicked the dying man’s . sword out of reach, 
and turned the body over to see if the face were known to 
him. 

The moon was struggling fitfully through driving 
clouds, and by its light he recognized the fellow-prisoner of 
old Petroni in the Bastille. 

“That explains things,” he said to himself. “I should 
like to know if this man or his fellow cut-throat lived at 
No. 3 in the Rue St. Louis. Perhaps one could find out 
that.” 

He looked at his watch. It was only about half-past 
eight o’clock. 

“There is time to dispose of the business,” he thought. 
“And the sooner the better. If this sort of thing is to go 
on, I might as well be back in Madrid.” 

He looked again at his late assailant. He was quite dead. 
Gwynett laid the sword beside him, covered the face with 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


119 

the hat, and went off to the Rue St. Lonis. He knocked 
at the door of No. 3, and the summons was answered by a 
serving-maid. 

“Has M. Grivois come in yet?” asked Gwynett. 

“No, monsieur,” replied the girl. “But we expect him 
very soon. Will monsieur leave a message?” 

“It is not necessary,” said Gwynett. 

He turned off to the Rue St. Honore, saying to himself, 

“He lodged there, no doubt. Now for the puller of the 
wires.” 

Arrived at the Palais-Royal, he went into the wing of the 
building where the abbe Dubois had his apartments, and 
asked to see him. The officials there did not know 
Gwynett, who had never presented himself in that part 
of the palace before, and they informed him that the abbe 
had given orders to admit no one that evening. 

“My business is a little urgent,” said Gwynett. 

“M. Babbe’s instructions were precise, monsieur.” 

“He will receive me, nevertheless,” averred Gwynett, 
with a good deal of positiveness, as a gentleman-in-waiting 
came up. “Be good enough, monsieur, to ask him.” 

“What name shall I give, monsieur?” asked the official, 
rather impressed by Gwynett’s peremptory tone. 

“M. Jules Grivois,” replied Gwynett. 


120 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XII. 

A MUTUAL UNDERSTANDING. 

T HE usher went off, and presently returned, saying, 
“M. Pabbe will see M. Grivois. Please to fol- 
low me, monsieur.” 

Gwynett did so, and as they reached the top of the 
stairs, Dubois came out of a room on the landing. He 
seemed extremely surprised at seeing Gwynett, but at 
once put on a smile of gratification. 

“Good evening, M. le chevalier,” he said. “This is an 
unexpected pleasure. Come this way.” 

He pointed to the room he had just left, and looked 
daggers at the usher, evidently assuming that Gwynett 
had been admitted under his own name and against his 
general orders. The usher began to stammer something, 
but the abbe cut short with a curt, 

“Presently.” 

As this was quite unintelligible to the usher he opened 
his mouth to ask for an explanation. But the abbe waved 
his hand with another frown, and followed Gwynett into 
his cabinet, shutting the door after him. He motioned his 
guest to a fauteuil, and seated himself in his writing-chair 
at the table. 

“You have made me wait a good, long time for the 
honor of a visit from you, my dear M. de Starhemberg,” 
he remarked, urbanely. “But better late than never. 1 
hope you have come to say I can do you some little service.'’ 

“Hot at all, M. Pabbe. The fact is, that somehow or 
other I felt extremely bored by my own society, and thought 
it would be an agreeable novelty to drop in and have a 
few minutes’ chat with you.” 

The abbe saw that he was not exactly expected to be- 
lieve this exordium, and waited with a bow for further 
enlightenment. 

“Your people guard you like a fortress,” resumed 
Gwynett, “and I hope your usher will not get into trouble 


A Dead Man’s Shoes 


I 2 I 


for admitting me. If yon have any appointment for this 
hour, I beg yon will not hesitate to send me away. Was 
it M. Grivois I met just now ? I think I recognized him 
from seeing him in the Bastille the other morning.” 

“He can wait,” replied the abbe, not feeling quite snre of 
his ground. 

“So I was right,” said Gwynett to himself. He went 
on alond, 

“Thank yon. It is very good of you to allow me a 
slice of your time. You must be enormously busy under 
the new state of affairs. I admire without understanding 
it.” 

“What is it you do not understand, M. le chevalier ?” 

“Why you should take all this trouble — the trouble of 
concerning yourself with the government of the country. 
For it is no secret, M. Fabbe, that you have a very fat 
finger in the pie.” 

“Assuming you are right, M. le chevalier, what do you 
find remarkable about it?” 

“I always find it remarkable that anyone should make 
any sacrifice of time or trouble for the sake of fame or 
power. And, unless I am mistaken, .you are rather that 
sort of person, M. Fabbe. That surprises me.” 

“You will not find many people to share your surprise, 
M. le chevalier.” 

“Possibly. It is very curious, all the same. For in- 
stance, let us take it for granted you would like to be fa- 
mous. What is fame ? First of all you earn the admira- 
tion of some man of whose judgment you have no opinion 
whatever ; you multiply this man by a million, call it being 
famous, and are proud of it. Nevertheless, you still con- 
tinue to despise each one of the million, taken by him- 
self.” 

A half-smile flitted across the face of the abbe. 

“ Cert&s , that is one view of the matter,” he said. “But 
if you can say that of fame, you can hardly say it of 
power.” 

“What is there then so admirable in power? Most 
people spend all their days in doing ignoble things in an 
ignoble way. Power consists in being able to compel people 
to do ignoble things my way instead of theirs. That might 
annoy thorn; but it would scarcely amuse me” 


122 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“But, chevalier, power usually means wealth also. I 
suppose all of us would like to be a little richer than we 
are ?” 

“It would entirely depend upon the conditions. For 
myself, I have not yet met with the conditions that would 
make it palatable.” 

The abbe became rather alert at this observation. 

“Are you then going to leave us, M. le chevalier? Or 
are twelve thousand livres a year too small a morsel to 
leave any taste in your mouth ?” 

“If you are referring to my post in monseigneur’s lab- 
oratory, M. l’abbe, you are perhaps not aware that I have 
declined to receive any remuneration whatever for my 
services there, such as they are.” 

The abbe looked genuinely surprised. 

“I was not aware of that, M. le chevalier. Is it per- 
mitted to ask why ?” 

“Simply, M. l’abbe, because if I have a hobby, it is to 
meet people on an equal footing. I have a sufficient in- 
come of my own, and I never incur money obligations to 
anybody. As matters stand, I find the facilities afforded 
me, together with the society of monseigneur, very agree- 
able, and occasionally instructive, and I desire to enjoy 
both on my own terms so long as I care to stay in Paris.” 

“Decidedly you are a philosopher, M. de Starhemberg, 
and I do not say you are wrong.” 

“Tastes always differ, M. l’abbe. If I, for my part, find 
fame a little absurd, power very undesirable, and other 
people’s money not quite suitable for my acceptance, that 
is no reason why anyone else should agree with me. I 
only wish to make clear to you why, for the moment, lam 
in Paris rather than in Heidelberg, or Munich, or else- 
where.” 

The abbe stroked his chin reflectively, and remarked, 
with a visible clearing of the face, 

“Permit me to say, M. le chevalier, that your views inter- 
est me much. It is perhaps excusable that I could not 
very well guess at them before.” 

“I did not expect it,” said Gwynett. “May I ask, M. 
l’abbe, if you are fond of living in the country?” 

“I never tried it,” replied the abbe, rather at a loss to 
understand this sudden change of subject. 


A Dead Mans Shoes 


123 


“Ah! It is very pleasant, for some things. I was 
brought up in the country, in Kent. Of course, there are 
drawbacks. In Kent we used to have a good many wasps. 
Were you ever stung by a wasp, M. l’abbe?” 

“I cannot recollect such a thing/’ 

“You would find it very disagreeable. During summer 
time in Kent these insects were often quite a nuisance. 
One could put up with one wasp, or perhaps two; but if 
more of them came about, and they began to be objection- 
able, do you know what we generally did?” 

“I have not the slightest idea,” replied the abbe, endeav- 
oring to conceal his impatience at this not very interesting 
digression. 

“We used to hunt for the nest, M. l’abbe. When we 
found it — which was usually easy — a kettle of boiling- 
water, or a handful of gunpowder, or a little sulphur did 
the business. After that, we were not molested. . It was 
less trouble in the end, you observe, than dealing with in- 
dividual insects.” 

“I have no doubt, M. le chevalier.” 

Gwynett rose, as if to terminate his visit. 

“Well, M. Fabbe, I have bored you long enough, I am 
sure. It is very good of you to waste so much of your 
time on me — the more so as I take it you have still a visitor 
to see. M. Grivois, is it not?” 

“Some such name, I believe,” replied the abbe negli- 
gently, as he rose, in his turn. 

“Do not wait for him too long, M. l’abbe.” 

“Why not?” 

“I do not think he will be able to come.” 

“What makes you suppose so, M. le chevalier?” 

“Well, for one thing, he is dead.” 

“Dead ! Since when ?” 

“About half-past eight this evening.” 

“Impossible! He was here just now.” 

“That would have been clever of him.” 

“Then you know he is dead?” 

“I ought to know, certainly.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I killed him. You will find his body in the 
gutter somewhere along the Kue St. Antoine — if you care 
to look.” 


124 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The abbe gazed speechlessly at his visitor for several 
seconds. Then he ejaculated, as Gwynett turned towards 
the door, 

“Why on earth, M. le chevalier, did you not tell me that 
before ?” 

“My dear M. Tahbe, I have been "telling you nothing 
else for the last half-hour. Good evening.” 

Gwynett opened the door, and went out. The abbe fell 
back into his chair dumfounded. 

He sat for some time absorbed in thought, with his 
head resting on his hand. Then he straightened himself, 
rang his little bell, and muttered, with a certain air of 
relief, 

“Perhaps it is as well — after all, it has saved me Some 
little expense. Certainly this is a devil of a fellow.” 


BOOK II 

KING, BY RIGHT DIVINE 


























































































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BOOK II 


King, by Right Divine 


CHAPTER XIII. 

HOW LORD STAIR WAS UNEASY. 

F OR several weeks after lord Stair’s visit to the regent 
the affairs of the Pretender continued to give the 
worthy ambassador continual work and worry. The 
earl of Mar — known to his contemporaries as “Bobbing 
John,” from his having been twice a Tory, twice a Whig, 
and finally a J acobite rebel — had carried out the orders sent 
from Bar-le-duc by the chevalier de St. George, and had 
raised the Stuart standard on September 6th, at Kirk- 
michael. This inaugurated the Jacobite rebellion in 1715. 

A little later the duke of Ormonde sailed from France to 
make a descent on the English coast, but met with such 
tempestuous weather that he was unable to land. In the 
meantime, he learned that his factotum, colonel McLeane, 
had taken the opportunity of betraying the plans of the 
expedition to the English government. This made it use- 
less to think of raising the west country for the Stuarts, as 
had been intended, so that Ormonde had to return to Paris 
rather discomfited. 

The chevalier’s ships and the bulk of the arms and 
stores at Havre which had been discovered and denounced 
by admiral Byng, were put under an embargo by the re- 
gent, on lord Stair’s representations. A portion, how- 
ever, had escaped detection, and lay in readiness for the 
arrival of the Pretender from Lorraine. This step had 
been continuously urged upon him, by the whole Jacobite 
party in Great Britain, as absolutely necessary for the 


128 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

success of the rising. But hitherto the Pretender had dis- 
played a good deal of unwillingness to share the risks which 
were being run on his behalf by other people. 

Meanwhile Bolingbroke, who was quite the most es- 
teemed and influential English Jacobite in France, was un- 
ceasing in his endeavors to secure either assistance or a 
friendly neutrality from the regent. But this was pre- 
vented by the watchfulness of Dubois, and the utmost that 
he could gain was an understanding that the French au- 
thorities would be blind and deaf as long as they decently 
could. Lord Stair, who was in daily expectation of the 
Pretender’s flight from Lorraine, multiplied his spies and 
made M. d’Argenson’s life a burden to him; while lord 
Cadogan, from his post at Brussels, employed agents to 
keep watch at Nancy. 

Nothing definite, however, occurred until the begin- 
ning of November. Early on the morning of the 9th, 
lord Stair came in haste to the Palais Royal, and asked 
for an immediate interview with the regent. After a short 
delay he was taken to M. d’Orleans, who was sitting with 
the abbe Dubois. 

“Monseigneur,” began the ambassador, “the time has 
come for me to claim the fulfilment of your promise.” 

“Well, milord,” replied the regent, “I am always as good 
as my word. What has happened ?” 

“The chevalier de St. George has left the chateau de 
Commercy, where he has been for three weeks the guest 
of M. de Vaudemont, and has started for the coast. He 
will sleep to-night at Chateau Thierry, and I have for- 
mally to request that he may be arrested and conducted 
back to Lorraine.” 

“Who has told you of all this, milord?” asked the re- 
gent, with a good deal of scepticism in his tone. 

“One of my agents, who witnessed the departure, and 
has used up twelve horses to bring the news.” 

“Your agent, then, did not act upon mere rumor?” in- 
terposed Dubois, without ceremony. 

“He followed the travelling-carriage — a private one — to 
the frontier before leaving it. There were half a dozen 
of the chevalier’s suite, including father Innis and the 
two Jacobite agents, captain Floyd and M. Iberville.” 

The regent looked at Dubois, and gathered from the 


King, by Right Divine. 120 

abbe’s expression that there was no loophole of escape 
from his obligations. So he replied, 

“That seems pretty clear, milord. Orders shall be given 
to stop the chevalier at Chateau Thierry, as you request.” 

“I hope those orders may be given at once, monseign- 
eur,” went on the persistent diplomatist. 

The regent drummed with his fingers on the table a little 
impatiently. Then he turned to Dubois, and said, 

“Let us have Contades here.” 

The abbe rose and went out, returning presently with 
an officer in the uniform of a major in the king’s Guards. 

“Major Contades,” said the regent, who had been writ- 
ing a few lines on a sheet of paper, “you will set out at 
once for Chateau Thierry, and await the arrival of M. le 
chevalier de St. George, whom you will conduct back to 
Bar. Take with you your brother from your regiment 'and 
a couple of sergeants. Here is your warrant.” 

He handed the paper to the officer, and added, 

“Keep your commission a secret, and execute it as cir- 
cumspectly as possible. The less known about M. le chev- 
alier’s journey and return, the better.” 

“What if the chevalier and his companions are numer- 
ous enough to resist, and do so?” inquired the major cau- 
tiously. 

“In that case you will keep them under close observation 
and send back one of your men to report. But you are 
authorized to demand assistance to any extent you may re- 
quire, and you must secure enough to leave the chevalier 
no possible excuse for any appeal to force.” 

At this moment the ambassador’s attention was taken 
off for a moment, and the regent utilized the opportunity 
to shake his head at the major. The latter, who was a good 
deal behind the scenes of the regent’s personal sympathies, 
smiled imperceptibly, bowed, and went out. 

“Can you suggest anything more, milord?” asked the 
regent urbanely. 

“Nothing, monseigneur, at present — unless M. d’Argen- 
son can find an excuse for interfering with the canaille 
who come in groups to shout Wive J ob !’ opposite my 
house at all hours of the day.” 

“ Wive Job !’ ” echoed the regent, to whom this political 
jeu d’esprit was not- as yet known. “I don’t see exactly 


130 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

why they should want to shout ‘Vive Job! or why you 
should want to stop them. It seems to me that the pa- 
triarch was a decidedly over-rated person. If he had been 
regent of France I fancy we should have heard very little 
about him.” 

“Monseigneur, it is an impudent acrostic, composed of 
the initials of James, Ormonde, and Bolingbroke. The 
rebels have been bawling it in London for a month or 
more, and it has just been brought over to Paris to annoy 
me.” 

Dubois grinned, and the regent replied, 

“As to that, milord, your only remedy is to invent a bet- 
ter acrostic for your own side. That is the way to suc- 
ceed with the Parisians. But au revoir; we shall meet, I 
hope, at madame de Valincour’s reception to-night. She 
complains that you have quite deserted her lately.” 

The earl bowed with a good deal of gratification. 

“I must explain to madame la comtesse,” he replied, 
“that I have had to desert everything agreeable since the 
outbreak of the rebellion. But I hope that will soon be 
over — all the sooner for your highness’s prompt action 
to-day.” 

The same evening a great gathering assembled at ma- 
dame de Valincour’s new house in the Rue St. Honore, 
which had just been given her by the regent, and to which 
she had a week or two previously removed. This reception 
was thus a sort of house-warming, and all who wished to 
be in the good graces of the regent took care to come and 
pay their respects to the beautiful favorite. 

About nine o’clock, when the throng was at its densest 
and the regent had just arrived in company with lord 
Stair, a message was brought to the latter that someone 
wfished to speak to him. Knowing from the name given 
that it was of importance, he apologized to his hostess and 
went down to a little reception-room in the entrance hall. 
Here he found a confidential agent of his, named Douglas, 
a colonel in one of the Irish regiments serving under the 
French flag. The earl shut the door, and asked, 

“Well, colonel?” 

“My lord, a most extraordinary thing has happened, and 
I do not know how to act.” 

“What is the matter ?” 


King, by Right Divine. 13 1 

“Agreeably to your lordship’s orders I kept on the track 
of the Pretender, intending to make some disturbance at' 
Chateau Thierry, as instructed. But before we got there 
the chevalier left the party, took horse alone, and rode 
away south by way of Montmirail. I followed him imme- 
diately, and found that he rejoined the main road at La 
Ferte. Thence he rode straight to Paris, and we passed 
the barrier ten minutes ago. Of course I kept him in view 
through the city.” 

“And where is he now?” 

“Here, my lord.” 

“What l” 

“He is in this house.” 

“Nonsense !” 

“I assure you, my lord, he entered the side door on the 
left, and passed in as if he were expected. Luckily, two of 
our men are in your suite here, so I posted them to watch 
the side and back of the house. It is very unlikely he 
would leave again by the front, but at the same time it 
might be well for me to remain in the entrance hall.” 

“It is excessively awkward,” remarked the earl. “The 
comtesse has certainly pretended to be a Jacobite. But as 
matters stand between her and the regent, one would ex- 
pect that sort of thing to be put on the shelf.” 

“Ho you suppose, my lord, that the regent is privy to 
it ?” 

“Impossible to say. Whichever way it is, there will be 
a scandal. It is like putting one’s finger between the 
hammer and the anvil. But let us go back into the hall.” 

As they did so, the regent came down the stairs with 
Dubois, apparently about to take his departure. He no- 
ticed the earl near the door, and remarked, 

“Ah! milord, and are you going, too?” 

“No, monseigneur — at least, not just yet. But I should 
like a word with your highness before you leave.” 

“Certainly,” replied the regent, pointing to the recep- 
tion-room. “You need not wait for me, abbe.” 

“On the contrary, monseigneur,” said the earl, who had 
been accustomed to find the abbe a good deal more sym- 
pathetic than the regent himself, “I hope M. l’abbe will 
give me the benefit of his advice.” 

He signed to Douglas to remain on guard over the front 


132 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

door, and went into the little room with the regent and 
Dubois. 

“Monseigneur,” he began, “it is very embarrassing for 
me, I assure you; but the fact is that M. le chevalier de 
St. George has just entered this house.” 

“Impossible, milord !” exclaimed the regent. 

“There is not the slightest doubt of it,” replied Stair. 
“Under the circumstances I can only ask your highness to 
do what you think right and proper. I should be in despair 
if anything occurred to annoy madame la comtesse.” 

“Who saw the chevalier ?” asked the regent incredulously. 

“Colonel Douglas, who was with me just now. He has 
followed him from Lorraine without losing sight of him.” 

The regent was a little staggered, and turned inquir- 
ingly to Dubois. The abbe took things very coolly. 

“Monseigneur,” he remarked, “it is quite simple. Ask 
the comtesse.” 

“Very good,”" returned the regent. “Come, milord.” 

The three men went back to the hall, and thence to the 
salon, which was beginning to thin. In response to a 
glance from the regent, the comtesse left her guests and 
came forward. 

“Comtesse,” said the regent, “milord Stair complains 
that you are selfishly keeping some of your guests to your- 
self instead of allowing us to share the pleasure of their 
society with you.” 

“I was not aware of it, monseigneur. Whom do I keep, 
and where do I keep them ?” 

“Milord thinks perhaps in your private boudoir — or per- 
haps in your pocket. I don’t exactly know. Ask him.” 

“Perhaps madame has a visitor unknown to her,” sug- 
gested the earl, a little uncomfortably. 

“That is possible, of course,” replied the comtesse. “But 
whom ?” 

“Let us say the chevalier de St. George, for example,” 
said the regent. 

“The chevalier here?” 

“So milord Stair says.” 

“That would be a great honor,” replied the comtesse, 
smiling_ enigmatically. 

“Madame,” put in Dubois, “to save time, may we ask if 
the chevalier is under this roof ?” 


i33 


King, by Right Divine 

“Not to my knowledge, M. Pabbe.” 

“Have you any private visitor here, madame ?” 

Even lord Stair could not help smiling at this excess- 
ively indiscreet question. But the cointesse was not at all 
disturbed. 

“I have not heard of anyone, M. Pabbe.” 

“May we inquire, madame ?” 

“Of course.” 

The comtesse signed to a servant, and told him to send 
her maid. Presently the girl appeared, and the comtesse 
asked, 

“Is there anyone in my room, Ninette?” 

“Yes, madame,” replied the girl, without hesitation. 

The regent laughed, and lord Stair looked triumphant. 

“May we interview this guest of yours, madame ?” asked 
Dubois. 

“By all means, abbe. Shall I accompany you, or re- 
main here ?” 

“Come with us, madame. Then milord Stair will not 
suppose vou have been doing any conjuring behind our 
backs.” 

“Beally, M. Pabbe ” began Stair reproachfully. 

“Milord,” interrupted the regent, “do you know the 
chevalier by sight?” 

“No, monseigneur; but colonel Douglas does.” 

“Fetch him, abbe,” said the regent, “and order all the 
doors to be closed till we return.” 

Douglas made his appearance, and the party proceeded 
to the comtesse 7 s boudoir. When the door was opened, a 
man was seen seated at a table near the farther end of the 
room, and engaged upon his supper. He raised his head, 
threw a kiss to the comtesse, and rose to bow to the regent. 
Stair looked at Douglas, and the latter nodded, saying, 

“The chevalier, my lord.” 

Dubois chuckled to himself. The comtesse went for- 
ward, and kissed the man at the table. 

“Monseigneur,” she said, “permit me to present to you 
my brother, the abbe Armand Gaultier, whose name may 
be known to you in connection with the recent peace 
negotiations.” 

The abbe Gaultier bowed again to the regent, who came 
forward and shook hands with him. 


134 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

Douglas looked on with a stupefied air, and quite lost 
to the reproachful glances of the ambassador. 

“Is this your chevalier, then, milord ?” inquired Dubois, 
with one of his grins. 

“It is some unaccountable mistake, M. l’abbe,” said the 
discomfited earl, “for which I hope you will accept my 
excuses.” 

The regent laughed good-naturedly. 

“Certainly there is a slight resemblance,” he said, “be- 
tween M. Gaultier and the chevalier, but that is all. I 
hope it will never involve M. Gaultier in any greater incon- 
venience than being disturbed at his supper, for which I 
am sure we all apologize.” 

“Monseigneur,” replied Gaultier, “I am greatly indebted 
to any mistake which has enabled me to become known to 
your highness.” 

“Add, to milord Stair, also,” said the regent, with a 
bow in the direction of the ambassador. “Although it ap- 
pears his friends in England are anxious to cut the 
throats of everybody concerned in the treaty of Utrecht.” 

The earl smiled perfunctorily at this suggestion, bowed 
to Gaultier, and made a movement of retreat with colonel 
Douglas. The regent and the abbe Dubois followed their 
example, leaving the comtesse to exchange a few words 
with her brother. 

When they were back in the salon, the regent turned to 
lord Stair, saying, 

“I trust this episode will allay your apprehension, milord. 
It seems we have sent major Contades on rather a wild- 
goose chase.” 

“It must be remembered, monseigneur,” replied the earl, 
who had had time to recollect matters, “that several of 
the chevalier’s suite and M. Gaultier were in company 
together. Colonel Douglas’s mistake was therefore partly 
excusable.” 

“No doubt,” said the regent, in a tone that was obviously 
intended to close the discussion. He bowed an adieu to 
the earl and the colonel, and went away with the abbe 
Dubois. 

Lord Stair turned to Douglas and said in a tone of 
extreme irritation, 


King, by Right Divine 135 

“This is a damnable mare’s nest of yours, colonel. See 
what a ridiculous figure you have made me cut !” 

“My lord,” replied Douglas brusquely, “all this is neither 
here nor there. Whoever this man is, he has been under 
my eye for the last ten days at Commercy, and accepted as 
the chevalier by everybody.” 

“Well, well ! I daresay there is some likeness,” said the 
earl grudgingly. “But it is none the less a most annoying 
mistake.” 

“It seems to me your lordship does not realize what it 
all involves,” said Douglas. 

“What does it all involve, in your opinion ?” snapped the 
earl. 

“My lord, if this man is not the chevalier, there is no 
other chevalier at Bar or at Commercy.” 

“What do you mean ?” asked the earl, in a startled tone. 

“What I say, my lord. This M. Gaultier is all that there 
has been to represent the chevalier in Lorraine for the last 
ten days or more.” 

The earl turned pale, and fell into a chair. 

“Good Lord!” he ejaculated. “But where is the chev- 
alier himself ?” 

The colonel shrugged his shoulders. 

“How the devil should I know ?” he growled. 

“Then he has escaped !” gasped the earl. 

“It looks very like it,” said the colonel sulkily. 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


i36 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE ABBE GAULTIER^ PROGRAMME. 

M Y dear Armand,” asked the comtesse, as soon as 
she was alone with her brother, “what on earth 
have you been doing to yourself ? I scarcely think 
I should have known you, if I had not known it could be 
no one else.” 

“It is rather a long story,” replied the abbe, resuming 
his supper, “and will keep till you are at liberty. Prob- 
ably you cannot desert your guests just yet.” 

“I will leave you till the rooms are clear, and then 
come back. The people will go as soon as monseigneur 
sets the example. Have you what you want ?” 

“Everything. Except, perhaps, a boot- jack and slip- 
pers. I have been in the saddle twelve hours, and am 
dead tired.” 

“I will send them. Smoke, if you like.” 

The comtesse went out, and sent a servant who relieved 
the abbe of his riding-coat and boots, and furnished him 
with a dressing-gown and slippers. He was sitting in 
much comfort before the fire, and half-way through his 
first pipe, when madame de Valincour came back again. 
She went to a secretaire, and looked into one or two of 
the drawers while talking to her brother. 

“They are all gone,” she said. “We have the rest of 
the night to ourselves. You will sleep here, I suppose?” 
“If I am not de trop ” replied the abbe. 

“Monseigneur goes to Vincennes to-night,” explained 
the comtesse. 

The abbe looked round the room, and then remarked 
inquiringly, 

“He has done things rather handsomely, it appears ?” 
“As you see. At the same time, it was by no will of 
mine. I have made a point of asking — and, if possible, 
accepting — nothing whatever from him. I do not care to 


*37 


King, by Right Divine 

be taken for one of the crowd he has been accustomed to, 
who do nothing but fleece him till he throws them aside.” 

“Probably he finds that a little novel.” 

“One would think so. But I could not very well avoid 
accepting this house, because it has some arrangements 
made for his own private convenience.” 

The abbe nodded, and filled his pipe again. 

“How have the discarded ones taken it?” he asked. 

“I have heard very little. Naturally, I take care to run 
as few risks as possible, especially in the way of dining 
out. I keep 'my old cook, and I think it would be difficult 
for anyone to tamper with him. At the same time, one 
cannot supplant people without being liable to some un- 
pleasantness or other. I am really more concerned about 
the duke’s male friends than the women.” 

“How?” 

“I am very anxious to get him into more regular habits 
of life. No constitution can stand being traded upon for- 
ever, and I fancy monseigneur is nearer the end of his 
tether than people suppose. That would be a disaster 
without remedy. Already, however, he has a good deal 
curtailed his Palais-Royal suppers and other things, gets 
to bed at reasonable hours, and drinks — as he says — a lit- 
tle more like a beast and less like a man.” 

“Meaning, I suppose, for the mere purpose of quench- 
ing his thirst ?” asked the abbe. “That is still, I regret to 
say, my own deplorable case,” he added, ruefully. 

“I am thankful to hear that,” replied the comtesse 
earnestly, “for we are by no means out of the wood yet, 
my dear Armand. ' Until we are at war with Spain things 
will be very precarious, as I have explained to you in my 
letters.” 

The abbe looked at the fire for some seconds in silence, 
and then remarked meditatively, 

“Certainly, my dear Yvonne, you have wonderfully 
succeeded in your plans. But how easily you might have 
failed ! To stake everything on the duke’s taking a fancy 
to you was running a tremendous risk.” 

“It would have been so with anyone but the duke,” re- 
plied the comtesse. “That is one advantage of a man be- 
ing ready to take up with any pretty woman who comes 
in his way.” 


138 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Unfortunately,” remarked the abbe, “he is just as 
ready to put one down as to take one up.” 

The comtesse smiled with serene confidence. 

“Not necessarily,” she said. “There are women and 
women — or, I should say, women and a woman. I find 
everything very much as I expected. Of course, it has 
been of the greatest utility to work hand-in-hand with M. 
Dubois. But that was part of my programme from the 
first.” 

“And having won the game, do you really think it is 
worth the candle ?” inquired the abbe seriously. 

“My dear Armand, I have not won the game. I have 
won a seat at the card-table, but that is only the first step. 
The rest is all to come.” 

The abbe gave a little yawn, and leaned back in his 
chair. 

“Well, sister, I wish you every success. For myself, I 
should find these fine affairs a little too fatiguing. One 
gets old every day. Give me a trifling competence, and 
anybody in creation may handle the sceptre for aught I 
care.” 

“You shall have your trifling competence in due course, 
dear Armand. But you will have to wait till it can come 
without the appearance of my having to ask for anything. 
I suppose there is no hurry ?” 

“No. I have an affair in hand which will suit me very 
well for the present.” 

“Is it that which has brought you here to-night?” 

“Partly.” 

At this moment the comtesse appeared to find some- 
thing for which she had been looking in the secretaire, and 
came forward holding a miniature framed in Venetian 
glass. It was a portrait of the abbe, and a very faithful 
presentment of his features two or three years before. 

“I was a little curious,” she said, “to compare this like- 
ness with your present appearance. It is the eyebrows, is 
it not, that makes the difference?” 

“Chiefly,” replied the abbe, glancing at the miniature. 
“Also a silver plate which I wear in my mouth, and which 
accounts for a little, as you see.” 

The abbe put his fingers behind his teeth, and unhooked 
a sort of spring with two flanges, which had the effect, 


139 


King, by Right Divine 

while worn, of giving a pendent look to the cheeks. Its 
removal made a notable change in his appearance, and the 
former difference between his features and those of the 
portrait almost disappeared. 

“What is it all about ?” asked the comtesse. 

“It is part of the affair — the mare’s nest that those peo- 
ple discovered just now. I will explain it to you.” 

The abbe settled himself comfortably in his chair, and 
began his story. 

“Do you happen to recollect, three years ago or so, I 
mentioned to you that on the occasion of my first seeing 
M. de Berwick he seemed to find some slight likeness be- 
tween myself and the chevalier de St. George?” 

“I think I remember that.” 

“At the time I had never seen the chevalier. But when 
I went to Bar-le-duc this last summer, I noticed the resem- 
blance at once — so much so that I forthwith decided, in 
view of possible contingencies, To suppress it.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it occurred to me that at some juncture or 
other it might be desirable to turn the likeness to ac- 
count by personating the chevalier. Therefore, the fewer 
the people who knew of its being possible, the better ?” 

“And how did you proceed to efface yourself ?” 

“I had only to wear the red wig, the patch, and the blue 
spectacles, which I always carry about with me for emer- 
gencies; and I took care never to be seen without them, 
especially when in company with the chevalier.” 

“You said nothing about that in your letters.” 

“It was not worth while, then. As to my early rela- 
tions with the chevalier, you know all about them. There 
was no difficulty in getting on exceedingly intimate terms 
with him, thanks to a little philandering with the excel- 
lent Oglethorpe, who does her best to keep his most sacred 
majesty as sober and as little imbecile as possible. But 
until recently it really seemed as if one were wasting 
time, especially when the Scotch rising was started with- 
out even the poor assistance of the chevalier’s presence.” 

“That made rather a bad impression here.” 

“I should think so. However, after a couple of months’ 
fidgeting and indecision, M. de St. George was finally per- 
suaded that he must risk something if he wished to gain 


140 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

everything, and so decided to make his way to Scotland. 
The difficulty, of course, was to get off without being de- 
tected by milord Stair’s spies, who were everywhere, and 
that difficulty would probably have proved insuperable but 
for me. It was then the likeness came in useful.” 

The comtesse nodded appreciatively, and the abbe re- 
lit his pipe, which had gone out. 

“I took care,” he resumed, “to wait until the whole 
party were at a nonplus. Then I spoke, first of all, to M. 
le prince de Vaudemont. We were at the chateau de 
Commercy at the time. I asked for a private interview 
with M. le prince, and in his presence removed all my 
own accessories, painted my eyebrows to imitate the chev- 
alier’s, and stuffed some wool in my cheeks. Then I 
asked if my appearance suggested anything to him. I as- 
sure you he was quite taken by surprise — so much so that 
he was moved to confide to me that he had been prepared 
to advance a considerable sum to the chevalier if only a 
practicable method of evading milord Stair’s espionage 
could be hit upon.” 

“Did he say how much?” 

“Happily, yes. Twenty-seven thousand louis in gold.* 
I take credit to myself that I did not jump out of my 
chair when he mentioned those magnificent figures. But 
1 need not say I devoted myself on the instant, heart and 
soul, to the furtherance of the chevalier’s escape.” 

“You think that with all that money he may really do 
something across the Channel?” 

The abbe looked at his sister with a good deal of sur- 
prise. 

“The idea never crossed my mind,” he replied seri- 
ously. “You surely do not suppose I should ever let the 
money be wasted in any such fashion if I could prevent 
it?" 

“Ah!” said the comtesse. “You thought some of it 
might more suitably find its way into your own pocket?” 

“I am quite sure you agree with me that no possible 
number of birds in the bush could for a moment compare 
with such a one in the hand. Naturally, therefore, it 
became my business to start M. de Vaudemont’s twenty- 

* About £25,000. 


King, by Right Divine 14 1 

seven thousand louis on their travels — because, you see, 
when one is travelling, all sorts of things may happen.” 

“Have they happened?” 

“Hot yet, as you will see.” 

“Well, go on.” 

“M. le prince followed up his confidence by asking me 
if I had any detailed plan to suggest. Of course I had 
one. It was quite simple, and they adopted it. A fort- 
night’s hunting party was arranged at the chateau de 
Commercy, in honor of the chevalier. He came over 
again from the chateau de Bar for the purpose, attended 
by his suite. I was amongst them, dressed in my abbe’s 
soutane and hat — a cursed garb, which I loathe — with my 
usual red wig, patch, and spectacles. I got the prince’s 
surgeon to make me this silver spring with plates, for 
greater security, and altered my eyebrows with tweezers — 
a job worth five thousand louis at the very least. You 
have no idea how it hurts.” 

“But what was your plan?” 

“I am coming to it. There is a little huntsman’s cabin 
in the heart of the forest. The chevalier and myself ar- 
ranged to find ourselves there by accident one day, while 
M. le prince and father Innis kept watch at a distance. 
As an extra precaution, the chevalier invented a bad face- 
ache that morning, and came to the hunt with his face 
tied up. We exchanged clothes, and I put my plate in- 
side my jaws. The chevalier assumed my wig, patch, and 
spectacles, and we rejoined the hunt. That evening the 
sham abbe set out for the coast in a carriage of M. de 
Vaudemont’s, with the gold in an oak box, hidden under 
the seat. The sham chevalier went to bed to nurse his 
face-ache, which he did for nearly a week. Nobody sus- 
pected anything. Then I left Commercy with some of the 
chevalier’s people, who were not in the plot, and returned 
to Bar, affecting a certain amount of secrecy. The next 
morning we started for Paris. Of course, milord Stair’s 
spies followed us, and at Chateau Thierr I amused my- 
self by leaving the rest of the party and making a de tour 
on horseback by way of Montmirail and Le Ferte. Thus 
I am here.” 

“And what about the chevalier?” 

“He was to go to Chaillot, where M. de Lauzun has lent 


142 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

him a little house close to the convent. There he was to 
change his abbe’s disguise for a priest’s costume, and 
take a chaise to St. Malo by way of Alengon. The rest of 
us follow by different routes to join him at St. Malo or on 
the way. In the meantime, I become the abbe Gaultier 
again, in my usual lay attire.” 

"And what is the programme as to the money ?” 

"That must depend on circumstances. The chevalier 
will not let it go out of his sight, and he intended to sleep 
in his carriage. If no opportunity presents itself earlier, 
we have to go on board a vessel which has been hired from 
Havre-de-Grace, and I hope that will give an opening.” 

"A French vessel?” asked the comtesse. 

"No, English — she is called the Royal Mary. The peo- 
ple on her are well known to the Stuart partisans. I have 
come across one or two of them myself.” 

The comtesse ruminated for a little, and then re- 
marked, 

"It will be absolutely necessary for you not to fail, or 
at all events not to be found out. People have prejudices, 
even in Paris. Monseigneur is a good deal more Jacobite 
than M. Dubois. At the worst, I suppose you will ac- 
company the money to Scotland ?” 

“Certes — but that will be very unlucky. Once ashore in 
Scotland, the louis will disappear like snow in summer, 
and there will soon be nothing left worth stealing. Of 
course, it will then become a question of how much one 
can get by selling the chevalier to the English govern- 
ment.” 

"Hm ! That will smell worse than the other, if it gets 
about.” 

"Of course, it shall not get about.” 

"You are not hopeful of the chevalier’s success, then?” 

"It is not possible, except by a miracle. You would 
say so yourself, if you were with that crew for ten min- 
utes.” 

"The opening out of a chance for real activity may re- 
veal something unexpected about the chevalier. Hitherto 
he has been very much tied by the leg.” 

The abbe shrugged his shoulders. 

> “The chevalier is one of those people who always wait 
till someone pulls the chestnuts out of the fire for them. 


King*, by Right Divine 143 

But they know so little about him in Scotland that he may 
pass muster for a week or two, of course.” 

“Even if it be so, I fail to see what great benefit could 
accrue from betraying him to the English government. 
They would not pay much, under the circumstances.” 

“That is another story altogether. It is of some im- 
portance for me to be in their good graces over there. 
Since the queen’s death, as you know, all the treaty peo- 
ple have been under a cloud, or snuffed out altogether, and 
it might be as much as my neck is worth to be found in 
England while matters stand as they are at present. Now, 
I have urgent occasion to be in England and on comfort- 
able terms.” 

“Why? 

“It is that affair of an heiress I told you about some 
time back. I have by no means given it up. But she 
seems to have disappeared in some curious way, and I 
want to take up the search for her. To do that, I must 
not only be free from molestation, but be able to get a 
little assistance in various ways from persons in author- 
ity. Hence I am doubly bound to do something as a quid 
pro quo ” 

“Perhaps she is married,” suggested the comtesse. 

“In that case, she and her husband would have present- 
ed themselves at her place in Devonshire — which, I hap- 
pen to know, has not occurred.” 

“She may be dead.” 

“Then the next heir would have come and taken pos- 
session of Dorrington Hall. That has not occurred 
either.” 

“It is a good property, then ?” inquired the comtesse. 

“About two thousand a year, and nearly twenty years’ 
accumulations,” replied the abbe, with a prodigious yawn. 

“Certainly that seems worth a little trouble. If I can 
help you in any way with lord Stair, let me know. When 
do you start again after the chevalier?” 

“As soon as I wake, whenever that may be. And I will 
sleep now, my dear Yvonne, if there are no more expla- 
nations required. It is not worth while to go to bed. 
Don’t trouble about me in the morning, but tell your man 
to have my things ready.” 


144 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Just as you like,” replied the comtesse, rising and kiss- 
ing her brother. “That sofa is pretty comfortable.” 

The abbe took off his coat and waistcoat, wrapped him- 
self up in his dressing-gown, and lay down on the sofa to 
sleep the sleep of the just. 


King, by Right Divine 


145 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE CONVENT OF “LES FILLES DE STE. MARIE THERESE .” 

T HE morning after madame de Valincour’s recep- 
tion Gwynett had occasion to ride out to the re- 
gent’s park at Monceaux, which had been thrown 
open on certain days to the public. His business was 
with the chief engineer of the fountains and ornamental 
waters, and this functionary was at the moment super- 
vising some repairs of urgency in one of the warmest 
conservatories. Finding the temperature inside the struc- 
ture a little oppressive, Gwynett preferred to postpone his 
business till he could transact it outside. He therefore 
asked the engineer to rejoin him on one of the terraces 
as soon as he could be spared, and seated himself to watch 
the strollers who had been tempted by the brightness of 
the morning to inspect the beauties of the regent’s pleasure- 
gardens. 

A few yards away, a couple of little boys were playing 
about one of the bronze garden-seats which were placed at 
intervals along the terrace. The lads were of about the 
same size and height, but one was partially deformed, 
looked in very bad health, and moved slowly and pain- 
fully. The other boy’s face struck Gwynett by its ex- 
treme beauty, and he at once recollected it as that of the 

little sleeper whom Sanson had taken him upstairs to see 
at the house in the Rue St. Louis. 

The deformed boy seemed to be a protege of little Chariot, 
and the latter’s evident consideration and affection for his 
invalid companion interested and pleased Gwynett a good 
deal. He had been watching them play for a short time, 
and was on the point of getting up to join them, when the 
garden-seat was suddenly upset through the two boys choos- 
ing to sit on the back of it at the same time. It fell 

over, carrying the lads with it, and a loud scream fol- 

lowed from Chariot. Hastening up, Gwynett found both 


146 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

children on their backs, while Chariot’s right hand had 
been caught by the back-rail of the heavy seat, and crushed 
into the gravel. The other youngster was more fright- 
ened than hurt. 

Gwynett lifted the seat off Chariot’s hand and took 
the screaming child on his knee, just as Sanson, accom- 
panied by another man, came running up. 

“Eh ! M. de Starhemberg,” he ejaculated, “what has 
happened to the little one? Courage, my child! It is 
not so very bad, the pain, eh?” 

“I am afraid he got a hard squeeze,” replied Gwynett, 
who was holding the injured hand within his own, “and 
he will most likely lose some of the nails. But I don’t 
think any bone is broken.” 

The child struggled bravely to stop his crying, but could 
not repress the convulsive trembling and writhing caused 
by the pain of the injury. The fingers were already pur- 
ple and swollen, and bleeding in two or three places from 
under the nails. 

“It would be best to get a carriage, and take him back 
to Paris,” remarked Sanson’s companion, whose extreme 
general seediness of appearance was in marked contrast 
to the other’s somewhat gaudy attire. “There is no sur- 
geon about here, and the hand looks as if it wanted dress- 
ing.” 

“There are no livery stables either, that I know of,” 
replied Sanson. “What is to be done? It will keep him 
so long in pain to carry him home on my shoulder.” 

“Perhaps I can help in the matter,” said Gwynett. 
“Give me your hand, little one.” 

The child, who was still on Gwynett’s knee, reluctantly 
allowed his fingers to be opened and the adhering frag- 
ments of dirt and gravel to be gently brushed off. Then 
Gwynett placed the injured fingers in his own mouth with 
one hand, while he rested the other on the top of the 
child’s head. 

In a few seconds the little sufferer’s trembling and 
writhing ceased, his ashen face regained its color, and his 
eyes closed. His head fell back against Gwynett’s shoul- 
der, and he sank into a deep sleep. Sanson and his com- 
panion looked on open-mouthed, without saying a word. 

After a couple of minutes Gwynett took Chariot’s 


147 


King, by Right Divine 

fingers out of his month, and breathed several times on 
the top of the sleeping child’s head. Then he wrapped 
up the injured hand in his handkerchief, and turned to 
Sanson. 

“He has no pain now,” he said, “and he will not wake 
for some hours; do what you like. When he does, I 
think you will find his hand much better, if not quite well. 
You need not interfere in any way with it till I see it 
again. I will call at your house to-night, if it will be 
convenient to you.” 

Sanson was quite overcome with astonishment and 
gratitude. 

“I have no words to thank you, monsieur,” he said fer- 
vently. “What monsieur does is surely miraculous.” 

“Hot at all,” replied Gwynett. “It is only some sort 
of peculiarity one has, which comes in useful for this 
kind of thing. I have met half a dozen people who have 
much the same gift, and I daresay there are hundreds — 
yourself among them, perhaps — who possess it without 
knowing it.” 

Sanson opened his mouth as if to speak, and then hesi- 
tated. 

“What is it, monsieur?” asked Gwynett. 

“Monsieur, it is this other poor boy here — Chariot is 
so fond of him. If monsieur could do anything for 
him ” 

“What is the matter with him?” 

“For one thing, his back is diseased. And he was al- 
ways delicate. Coipe hither, Justin.” 

Gwynett looked at the little invalid’s face and asked, 

“Have you any pain, my boy?“ 

“Yes, monsieur, always. Sometimes it is worse than at 
others. Here,” and he put his hand round to his back. 

“And your head?” 

“That aches most days, monsieur. It aches now.” 

Gwynett passed the sleeping Chariot over to Sanson, 
and took Justin between his knees. He placed his right 
hand against the lad’s back where he had complained of 
the pain, and rested the other on his head. 

“Look at me, Justin,” he said, smiling. 

The child fixed his hollow eyes on the speaker’s with a 


148 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

certain wondering earnestness. Then the ghost of a smile 
responded to Gwynett’s. 

“Listen, Justin. I am going to take away the pain.” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“It is going. It is nearly gone.” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“It is gone altogether. You feel quite comfortable.” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“Go to sleep.” 

Justin’s eyes closed, his breath came slowly and regu- 
larly, and he seemed to sleep standing. Gwynett gently 
rubbed with his finger the skin amongst the roots of the 
hair just over the forehead, and the lad’s eyes opened 
again. 

“You can hear me, Justin?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“From to-day you will have no more pain, either in 
vour back or your head. You will sleep well. Do you 
hear?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“Shut your eyes.” 

The lad did so, and Gwynett blew sharply on his eye- 
lids. Justin started slightly, and woke up. 

“What was the last thing I said to you, my boy ?” asked 
Gwynett. 

“Monsieur said, ‘Go to sleep.’ ” 

Sanson was about to interrupt, but Gwynett motioned to 
him to be silent. 

“It is perfectly right,” said he, aside. “Say nothing. 
We must see how matters turn out. Occasionally I have 
found this sort of thing have a curiously good effect, 
but not always.” 

At this moment the engineer came up, and announced 
himself as ready for business. He noticed Chariot’s band- 
age, and was told what had occurred. 

“Do you happen, M. Leloir,” asked Gwynett, “to be 
able to spare any kind of vehicle to take the child back 
to Paris?” 

“There is a pony-chaise here, which is quite at mon- 
sieur’s service, if that will do.” 

Sanson’s seedy friend offered to take a message to the 
stables, and was despatched thither, while Gwynett exe- 


149 


King, by Right Divine 

cuted his commission with the engineer. The latter then 
went away, saying that the chaise would be ready at the 
lodge. Gwynett went back with this information to San- 
son, who was sitting with Chariot asleep on his knee. 

“Your friend will no doubt go to the lodge with the 
chaise, monsieur/’ said Gwynett, “so I will say adieu for 
the present.” 

“I am infinitely indebted to monsieur. But I should 
like to say that that person is only an acquaintance. We 
met by accident in the park. His name is Lambert. In 
my official position I am obliged to know all sorts of 
people, as monsieur may suppose. But I do not call 
them my friends.” 

The speaker’s combined conceit, dandyism, and unaf- 
fected sincerity had always rather amused Gwynett, and 
he replied good-naturedly, 

“Yaturalhq monsieur.” 

“This Lambert is really one of M. d’Argenson’s spies, 
who was dismissed for drunkenness, and who sponges upon 
me when he is in low water. But just at present he 
seems to have found some employment again, and he is 
sufficiently in funds to repay to-day a small sum he owed 
me.” 

“I congratulate you so far,” replied Gwynett. 

He patted little Justin on the head, took a final look at 
Chariot, and went off to spend an hour or two in ex- 
ploring the gardens and the sub-tropical conservatories. 

It continued a very fine morning, and Gwynett decided 
to ride, home leisurely by way of Chaillot, and lunch 
there. Arrived at the village, he made his way to the 
little inn, and was shown upstairs to a pleasant room over- 
looking the back garden of the house. To this, access was 
obtained by a flight of steps from the casement window, 
which was wide open. At the bottom of the garden there 
was a high wall, extending some distance to the right and 
left, and over-arched with the spreading branches of trees 
on the other side. Some of these, evergreen oaks and 
beech-trees, still retained their foliage. 

Under the wall, and partly hidden by some interven- 
ing shrubs, Gwynett noticed a man standing and looking 
up towards the foliage which overhung the coping of the 
wall. Amongst this foliage there came once or twice a 


150 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

flash of white or color, which suggested that some mem- 
ber of the opposite sex was leaning over the wall from the 
other side, and talking to the man behind the bushes. 

When the waiter came in with Gwynett’s lunch, he 
asked casually about the premises which lay beyond the 
garden wall. 

“Monsieur,” replied the waiter, “it is the convent of 
the Titles de Ste. Marie Therese.’ ” 

“True — I had forgotten that. I think I have heard 
that the queen of England * is rather fond of staying 
there now and then.” 

“Yes, monsieur,” replied the waiter, nothing loth to 
gossip. “She is there now, as it happens. It suits her 
better than St. Germain, so they say. And it seems, also, 
that someone is hiding in M. de Lauzun’s empty house 
a little farther to the left, although nobody is seen to go 
in or out. That house too, like this, goes up to the con- 
vent wall, as I daresay monsieur knows.” 

The waiter retired, and Gwynett addressed himself to 
his meal. Just at this juncture a voice from someone in 
the garden below the window asked in a sour tone, 

“Are you going to keep me all day, there?” 

The voice seemed familiar to Gwynett, and looking out 
of the casement, he recognized Sanson’s companion on 
the terrace at Monceaux. A second complaint, couched in 
still more discontented terms, elicited some reply from 
the man at the bottom of the garden (to whom it appeared 
to be addressed), and Gwynett saw again some object 
like a woman’s cap among the branches over the wall. 
Then the man came from behind the bush, and walked 
forward to meet the first speaker. The sun fell full on 
his face, and as he removed his battered hat, apparently 
to brush away something which had fallen on it, Gwynett 
noticed that he had a row of scars from the chin to the 
forehead, and a strong weal running from nose to ear 
across the right cheek. 

“The deuce !” he muttered, with sudden enlightenment, 
“that is my work, to a certainty. It is the fellow who 
fell upon me with Grivois that night in the Rue St. 
Antoine. Birds of a feather, evidently. I wonder what 
rascality is hatching here, of all places in the world ?” 

*The Widow of James II. 


King, by Right Divine 15 1 

The two men entered the ground-floor of the inn, and 
Gwynett, happening to glance out of the side window of 
the room a minute afterwards, saw the pair walking along 
the high-road towards Paris. He went on with his lunch, 
and, as soon as he had finished, lit his pipe and stepped 
down into the garden to stroll about for a little before re- 
suming his ride. After a turn or two he sauntered to- 
wards the wall at the bottom of the garden, and sat down 
on a rustic seat which he found behind the hushes. 

Looking for a moment on the ground, his eye fell on 
a gold coin which lay half-covered by his boot. He 
stooped to pick it up, and found that it was a louis d’or. 
He rubbed a little dirt off it, and had just slipped it into 
his waistcoat pocket, when a voice over his head ejacu- 
lated, 

“He! M. Berthon!” 

Gwynett rose, turned round, and found that the speaker 
was a stylish young person with the air of a lady’s-maid, 
who was leaning over the top of the wall under cover of 
a heavy branch of beech. He raised his hat with a smile, 
and the girl stammered in some confusion, 

“I beg monsieur’s pardon — I thought it was ” 

Gwynett finished the interrupted sentence by saying, 

“M. Berthon? He has gone away, mademoiselle. But 
I am here to supply his place. It is about your louis d’or, 
is it not ?” 

“Yes, monsieur,” replied the girl, quite unsuspiciously. 

“Have you only missed one, mademoiselle ?” asked Gwy 
nett, drawing a bow at a venture. 

“Only one, monsieur.” 

Gwynett noticed that the girl looked at her hand, and 
he asked promptly, 

“Are you quite sure, mademoiselle? Count — how many 
have you in your hand ?” 

“Four, monsieur. There is only one short.” 

“Five louis !” thought Gwynett. “What is afoot, for 
that seedy scoundrel to be bestowing five louis on a maid in 
a convent ? There is something behind this.” He went on 
aloud, taking his trouvaille out of his pocket, 

“This is it, mademoiselle. How did you come to drop 
it?” 

“I slipped, monsieur, just as I was getting off this heap 


152 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

of firewood, and my closed hand struck the top of the 
wall. I suppose the louis must have jerked out then, but 
I did not notice it till I got back to the house.” 

Gwynett decided to pursue his investigations a little 
further, and remarked in a confidential tone, 

“It is lucky I saw Berthon pick it up. The shabby fel- 
low would have pocketed it and gone off with it but for 
me. I thought you would come back for it, so I took it 
from him and waited for you.” 

The girl reddened with pleasure at this consideration 
on the part of so attractive a cavalier, and said, 

“Monsieur is very kind. I was afraid I had lost it al- 
together.” 

“Between ourselves,” remarked Gwynett, as he handed 
up the gold coin, “Berthon ought to have given you double, 
according to my notions. I am quite sure he did not tell 
me half of your news — and I think you deserve another 
five louis for the other half.” 

He leisurely drew out a handful of louis from his purse, 
and turned them over on his palm. The girl’s eyes sparkled. 
Gwynett looked up, and said gallantly, 

“Really, mademoiselle, you are so pretty a girl that I can 
scarcely believe Berthon’s account of your position here. 
What is the real truth of the matter ?” 

“Monsieur, I am one of her majesty’s maids — to wait 
upon the dames d’atours. But as a matter of fact, when 
we come here there is no ceremony, and we often wait upon 
the queen ourselves.” 

“And do you prefer this place to St. Germain ?” 

“No, indeed, monsieur. It is dull enough there, but here 
it is being buried alive.” 

Gwynett nodded, and jingled his louis d’or. 

“And what is it that shabby Berthon wants to keep to 
himself this morning?” he asked negligently. 

“Oh! monsieur, it is only about M. de chevalier. He 
came in last night from M. de Lauzun’s house, over the 
wall, ag before, and this time it was to say good-bye to the 
queen.” 

“Naturally,” remarked Gwynett, who recognized the im- 
portance of this piece of gossip. 

“The queen cried a good deal,” continued the girl, 
“and there was a special service in the chapel afterwards. 









































































King, by Right Divine 153 

He went away this morning — at least, the coachman told 
me they would be gone before daylight.” 

“Evidently a flight,” thought Gwynett, “and presumably 
for the coast.” He went on aloud, 

“There is a pretty good main road to Alengon.” 

“They are going to take by-roads till they get near 
Dreux,” said the girl, “and travel slowly — so the coach- 
man said. That is to escape notice.” 

“And who goes with the chevalier?” 

“I suppose he and M. Macdonald will be quite alone till 
they get to St. Malo. All the others are travelling sep- 
arately.” 

“A very good plan,” assented Gwynett. “It is rather 
curious, is it not, that M. de Lauzun should be helping 
the chevalier out of France?” 

“Why, monsieur?” 

“Because, as it happens, he helped him into it. That 
was twenty-seven years ago, when M. de Lauzun carried 
the chevalier, as a little baby, away from London by night, 
when the Revolution broke out. Well, I must not keep 
you any longer. Here are the other five louis that fellow 
Berthon ought to have given you. The next time I shall 
come alone, and leave him behind. I shall throw a note 
over, and you can put your answer amongst the moss on 
the top of the wall.” 

“That will do very well, monsieur.” 

Gwynett bowed an adieu, waved his hat, and went off 
to settle his bill. Then he rode away towards Paris, keep- 
ing a sharp look-out for Berthon and his companion, and 
wondering very much who had supplied the former with 
his five louis d’or. 


154 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XVI. 

HOW LORD STAIR MADE HIMSELF EASY AGAIN. 

E NTERING Paris just before the dusk began to close 
in, Gwynett saw, a little way in front of him, the 
two men of the auberge at Chaillot, and he slack- 
ened pace to a walk to see what became of them. They 
went on till they came to the courtyard of lord Stair’s 
hotel in Rue St. Antoine, where they were met by an 
officer who was coming in the opposite direction. The 
three men engaged in earnest conversation for a few min- 
utes, and then entered the hotel. 

This seemed to Gwynett to suggest a possible explana- 
tion of the mystery of the money, and he began to ask 
himself whether it would not be well to go straight to M. 
de Torcy or the regent with an account of what he had 
discovered. He rode away to leave his horse at his livery 
stables in the Rue St. Louis, and returned to the Rue St. 
Antoine just in time to see the ambassador enter his 
carriage, accompanied by the officer, and drive away in 
the direction of the Palais-Royal. 

“That saves me the trouble,” he ‘thought. “He has 
gone straight to monseigneur to demand that the cheva- 
lier shall be arrested and sent back to Lorraine. But I, 
should rather like to know who the officer is.” 

He went up to the concierge’s lodge, and asked if lord 
Stair was at home. The porter replied that he had just 
gone out to pay a visit to the regent. 

“Was he alone?” asked Gwynett. 

“No, monsieur. Colonel Douglas was with him.” 
Gwynett returned to. the Palais-Royal, and entered the 
laboratory. He had been there about half an hour when 
the regent came in, accompanied by M. de Torcy, and 
apparently very much amused. 

“Ah! here is M. de Starhemberg,” he said, laughing. 
“That is lucky, as I can tell both of you the story to- 
gether. I know M. de Starhemberg. is a very bottomless 


155 


King-, by Right Divine 

pit for discretion, and it is really a comfort to unbosom 
oneself to someone who will not scold me for blabbing. 
Sit down, marquis.” 

M. de Torcy and Gwynett exchanged greetings, and 
the former said, 

“Well, monseigneur, I am all attention, although I 
fail to realize the possibility of milord Stair being amus- 
ing under any conceivable circumstances.” 

“I did not say intentionally, marquis. But you shall 
judge for yourself. This is the affair.” 

The regent proceeded to narrate the scene of the night 
before at madame de Valincour’s, and made no secret of 
his delight at the ambassador’s discomfiture. Then he 
added that he had just come from an interview with lord 
Stair, who had called ’to reiterate his regrets for the unfor- 
tunate mistake made by Colonel Douglas. 

“He brought the colonel himself to emphasize his apolo- 
gies,” proceeded the regent, “and I do' hope we shall have 
a little peace at last about the affairs of the chevalier. He 
told me he was now assured, from more recent informa- 
tion, that M. de St. George had at present no intention of 
quitting Lorraine, and that in consequence he felt at 
liberty to discontinue the surveillance he had hitherto 
been obliged to exercise over the chevaliers proceedings; 
Finally, he said that he hoped all immediate occasion for 
troubling me with the matter had ceased, and that I 
would consider he was himself quite at ease about it, for 
which I devoutly thanked him.” 

Gwynett recognized that this piece of news put so seri- 
ous a complexion upon matters that he had better tell 
his own story at once. 

“Monseigneur,” he said, “if that is what lord Stair 
wishes you to believe, it is a little curious that he should 
have learnt, half an hour before coming to you, that M. 
le chevalier de St. George is now on his way to St. Malo, 
having left Chaillot, where he has been in hiding, early 
this morning.” 

The regent sprang up from his chair. 

“Impossible !” he exclaimed. 

“If you will listen, monseigneur, I think you will find 
that it is so.” 

Gwynett narrated the events of the day at Monceaux 


156 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

and Chaillot, and wound up by describing the short but 
significant meeting between the two spies and Colonel 
Douglas outside the ambassador’s house. 

The regent took the news rather seriously. 

“It seems quite certain/’ he remarked, “that if this man 
Berthon told Colonel Douglas anything of the Chaillot 
affair, Douglas would tell milord Stair.” 

“You may be equally certain, monseigneur, that Berthon 
is not the sort of fellow to have louis d’or to throw about 
on his own account. Somebody else is finding the money, 
and prettily liberally, that is clear.” 

“No one but milord Stair can have the slightest interest 
in the chevalier’s movements,” mused the regent. “Unless, 
by the way, this Douglas is playing some game on his own 
account. But that is hardly compatible with his keen 
hunting down of M. Gaultier at madame de Valincour’s.” 

“I think I ought to mention,” put in M. de Torcy, “that 
a few days ago the queen* asked me to lend her a chaise 
for a short time, saying she wanted to be able to drive 
about the neighborhood of the convent without being recog • 
nized either by using her own carriages with the royal arms 
upon them, or by having to hire one. Probably, it was 
wanted for this very scheme.” 

The regent walked up and down the laboratory in a very 
undecided frame of mind, and finally rang the bell for a 
servant. 

“Ask M. l’abbe Dubois to be good enough to come here,” 
he said. 

The servant went off, and in a few minutes the abbe 
presented himself. 

“Abbe,” said the regent, “you were present last night at 
milord Stair’s little fiasco. Listen to the sequel, if M. de 
Starhemberg will not mind the trouble of telling his story 
over again.” 

Gwynett did as requested, and the abbe listened with the 
greatest attention. The regent added his own and M. de 
Torcy’s news, and looked to the abbe for his verdict. 

“What does it mean?” he asked. “Speak freely before 
M. de Starhemberg. He has done us all too many services 
not to be included in the discussion.” 

“M. de Starhemberg has given us his facts,” replied 
*The Widow of James II. 


King, by Right Divine 157 

Dubois. “I should like him to say if, in addition, he lias 
formed any opinions.” 

“There is one circumstance I have not yet mentioned,” 
replied Gwynett, “and M. Fabbe can put his own construc- 
tion upon it. He is aware that an attempt was made to 
assassinate me a little while back •” 

“Why did I not hear of that ?” interrupted the regent. 

“It was not necessary, monseigneur — especially as M. 
Fabbe and myself agreed, after talking the matter over, 
that it was hardly likely to occur again.” 

The ghost of a smile flitted over the abbe’s impenetrable 
face, and he nodded affirmation. 

“On the occasion in question, monseigneur, I killed one 
of my assailants on the spot, and the other ran away, rather 
damaged. It was he who paid the girl the five louis. His 
companion’s name appears to be Lambert.” 

Dubois pricked up his ears at this. 

“Describe . them, M. le chevalier,” he said promptly, 
taking out his note-book. 

Gw r ynett did so. The abbe made a few rapid memo- 
randa, and left the room for a moment. Then he re- 
turned, saying, 

“All three shall be watched. If either Douglas or Lam- 
bert or Berthon leave Paris to-day in the direction of 
Alengon, we shall know what it means.” 

“And that is ?” asked the regent. 

“Evidently that either milord Stair or Douglas, or both, 
intend some mischief to the chevalier de St. George. 
Otherwise, he would at once have insisted on his arrest.” 

“You are quite right, abbe. But you scarcely suppose 
either of them would go to extremes?” 

“Why not ? There will never be such another chance 
for the English Government to get rid of their bogey for 
good and all.” 

“Get rid of the chevalier? Assassinate him?” 

“Of course — what would be the use of doing anything 
less?” 

“But it would be monstrous! Think of the scandal, 
even if he failed !” 

“Nothing of the sort, monseigneur. Milord Stair is 
really beginning to be quite clever. He has just now care- 
fully told you that the chevalier is keeping quiet in Lor- 


158 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

raine, and that he himself has no further apprehensions 
in the matter. If anything happens, it will be in some 
out-of-the-way place with some nobody or other, who gets 
into a squabble with certain peaceable travellers on the 
same road — to wit. Colonel Douglas or his two henchmen. 
If the said nobody gets knocked on the head, and turns out 
afterwards to be the chevalier de St. George, milord Stair 
will of course be the most astonished man in the world. 
Nothing could be more simple — or more convenient.” 

“We must prevent such a thing at all costs !” exclaimed 
the regent. 

“How? If you interfere to stop milord Stair’s emis- 
saries, or to send protection to the chevalier, you are quite 
obviously associating yourself with his flight, which is a 
violation of the treaty of Utrecht. If you overtake the 
chevalier, and send him back to Lorraine, the English will 
want to know how he came to be travelling in M. de Torcy’s 
carriage, and how his walking likeness happened to go 
straight to the house of madame de Yalincour last night. 
Besides, it would be exclusively embarrassing to detect 
milord Stair in trying to bamboozle the regent of France. 
We should be all blushing when we met each other — 
which would make people stare.” 

The regent was quite put out with the abbe’s logic. 

“Sangdieu!” he exclaimed, “are we to do nothing? Let 
the English go to the devil ! M. de St. George shall not 
come to harm if I can help it; and as to stopping him, 
the sooner he is out of France the better for everybody.” 

“I daresay he will be out of it fast enough if you leave 
matters alone,” remarked the abbe, with frank brutality. 

The regent for once blazed up in real anger, 

“M. l’abbe,” he said sharply, “try and understand that 
a son of France owes something to those who have gone 
before him and to those who will come after him — if not 
to himself. M. de St. George is of our own house,* he is 
our guest, he is in misfortune ; and even if we stand aside 
while he tries to mount his father’s throne, it will not 
exactly become us to allow him to be butchered on the steps 
leading to it.” 

The abbe was not at all disturbed by this outbreak. 

*It has already been mentioned that the Pretender (like the 
regent) was a great-grandson of Henri IV. 


King, by Right Divine 159 

“I have said nothing to the contrary, monseigneur,” he 
remarked placidly. "Let M. de St. George be warned, or 
protected, or arrested, as much as you please. But it 
must be with your left hand and not with your right — and 
you must not let your right hand know what your left is 
doing.” 

“It is easy to say so, abbe. But time presses, and whom 
can we set to work who will not be known as our agent? 
We are quite in the dark as to details, the affair will require 
someone to be in the secret, and that someone must have 
all his wits about him, while at the same time he must be 
a person who is quite in the background.” 

"Monseigneur, you know so exactly who is wanted, that 
I am amazed to see you do not know where to put your 
hand upon him.” 

M. de Torcy burst out laughing. 

“I quite agree with M. Tabbe,” he said. "Nevertheless, 
it is rather amusing that we all go to M. de Starhemberg 
when we are in a fix.” 

"M. de Starhemberg!” echoed the regent. "What a 
blockhead I am ! You are the very man for the business, 
chevalier, if you can see your way to undertake it. You 
know the three rascals who are in it, and if they know 
you, it is entirely as a private person, who does what he 
chooses and is accountable to no one.” 

It was not a habit of Gwynett’s to be visited by hesita- 
tions in matters of this sort. So he simply repiied, 

"I am quite at your service, mon seigneur. But I should 
like to know exactly what is to be done. I take it the 
how, when, and where must be decided by myself, according 
to circumstances.” 

At this moment a letter was brought to the abbe, which 
he read to the others. It was from M. d’Argenson, lieu- 
tenant-general of police, and reported that Douglas, Lam- 
bert, and Berthon had just left the hotel Stair. The 
colonel was in a chaise, while the other two were on horse- 
back, dressed as troopers, and the three had gone in the 
direction of the Porte St. Honore. 

"That settles matters, one would think,” commented the 
abbe, "and the sooner M. de Starhemberg is en route the 
better.” 

“And my instructions?” asked Gwynett. 


160 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Chevalier, what yon have to do is to get M. de St. 
George out of France, either east or west, without mishap, 
and without compromising our government. As to the 
means, you have carte blanche. For the chevalier de St. ^ 
George, this will be your credential,” and the regent handed 
his signet-ring to Gwynett. “For other people, I will 
give you an open order.” 

The regent sat down, and wrote on a sheet of paper : 

“November 10th, 1715. 

“Palais-Royal, 

“To whom it may concern. 

“Obey all orders of the bearer. 

“Philippe.” 

“Countersign, M. le marquis,” he said to de Torcy. 

The marquis added his signature, and the regent handed 
the paper to Gwynett. The latter glanced at it, and re- 
marked, 

“Monseigneur, that paper might be a little too conven- 
ient for the wrong person, if I happened to get my throat 
cut, or if it got adrift in some unforeseen way.” 

“What do you suggest then, chevalier?” 

“Add to it, ‘Current for one month from date/ mon- 
seigneur. That will put some limit to the privileges con- 
ferred by it.” 

“Very good,” assented the regent, making the suggested 
addition. “Here are two hundred louis for emergencies. 
The order will get you more whenever you want it. How 
soon can you start?” 

“At once, monseigneur. I have a call to make in the 
Rue St. Louis, but it will not delay me more than five 
minutes.” 

The party left the laboratory, and the abbe Dubois mut- 
tered to himself, as he walked off to his own rooms, 

“It is not quite what I should have liked. But I suppose 
the comtesse knows what she is about.” 

He took out of his pocket a little note, dated that morn- 
ing, which he read, and put back again. It ran: 

“Dear Abbe: 

“If you hear a clucking from the Bar-le-duc nest, do not 
disturb yourself. The eggs will addle. 


“Y, DE V.” 


King, by Right Divine 161 


CHAPTER XVII. 

AT NOKANCOURT. 

I X the afternoon of the day following his departure from 
Paris, Gwynett rode into the little village of Nonan- 
court, about nineteen leagues from Paris on the road 
to Alenqon, and three leagues beyond D'reux. He had 
come by way of the latter place, along an atrociously bad 
road, and had so far been able to learn nothing of the 
Pretender or of Colonel Douglas’s party. 

But this did not surprise him, as the latter were quite 
as likely as not to be taking the route of Ivry and St. 
Andre, which happened to be in very much better con- 
dition, while the chevalier would in any case be avoiding 
the main roads up to this stage of his journey. The fact 
of the two routes converging upon Nonancourt had decided 
Gwynett to make this place his first stoppage, in order to 
ascertain if possible whether the pursuers and pursued 
were in front of him or behind. 

He therefore put up his horse for an hour at the only 
inn in the place, which was the post-house also, and entered 
into a little diplomatic gossip with the stablemen. But as 
nothing corresponding with what he expected seemed to 
have been seen, he hired a fresh horse, and rode twelve miles 
farther to Verneuil, on the chance that either Douglas or 
the chevalier had passed through Nonancourt in the dark. 
Neither at Vernueil nor at Tillieres, about half-way be- 
tween, was anything to be learned of the travellers, so he 
returned at dusk to the post-house at Nonancourt, and 
ordered his dinner and a bed. 

The “Cerf Dore” was a comfortable building, kept by 
one madame THopital, who had previously been post-mis- 
tress at La Ferte. There were two or three private rooms 
to be had in the inn, and Gwynett secured one of these in 
order to lessen the chance of being recognized by Lambert 
or Berthon, should either of them happen to arrive there 
with Douglas. 


162 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

While smoking his pipe in this room after his meal, it 
occurred to him that in the course of his interview with 
the princesse Palatine at St. Cloud this village of Nonan- 
court had been mentioned as the home of the maid he had 
seen there, Sanson’s niece. 

“The princesse certainly said that her people lived here,” 
he mused. “They might possibly be useful in an emer- 
gency, if one only knew who they were. But the name 
escapes me altogether. Ah ! now I recollect — it was 
Tausch.” 

He made an excuse to send for the landlady, and asked 
casually if any family of the name in question lived there- 
abouts. 

“I know whom monsieur means,” replied madame 
l’Hopital. “It is really the people of Grandpre at Boissy- 
en-Drouais, along the hillside to the right of Dreux. Their 
mother’s name was Tausch — Germans of the Palatinate. 
The old people were in the household of madame duchesse 
d’ Orleans, and one of the granddaughters is there now.” 

“Thekla, I suppose ?” put in Gwynett, recollecting that 
this was the name of the girl he had seen at St. Cloud. 

“No, monsieur, Bertha. Thekla is her sister, and she is 
at home at Grandpre. But a little while ago Bertha fell 
ill, and Thekla went to take her place for a short time with 
madame at St. Cloud. Monsieur has perhaps seen her 
there ?” 

Gwynett nodded affirmatively. 

“And what is the present household at Grandpre he 
asked. 

“Monsieur, besides Thekla there is only the mother 
there, madame Martigny. She manages the farm. They 
used to be a large family, but all the rest are dead now. 
Madame Martigny’s sister in Paris, madame Sanson de 
Longval, was the last.” 

“My landlady of the Eue des Poissonniers, no doubt,” 
commented Gwynett mentally. 

“It is rather lonely for her with such a big house as 
Grandpre,” went on madame l’Hopital, “but occasionally 
she lets rooms to people who come to hunt in the forest 
of Boissy. The seigneur of the forest, M. le baron de 
Bauge, will have no visitors at the chateau, and his son, 
the chevalier de Bauge, is obliged to find accommodation 


King-, by Right Divine 163 

for his hunting acquaintances wherever he can in the 
neighborhood.” 

“And how far is Grandpre from here, madame?” 

“About a league, monsieur; just on this side of Boissy. 
The best road thither is from Louvilliers, which monsieur 
passed through on the highway from Dreux.” 

At this moment the sound of wheels and the clatter of 
horses’ hoofs announced an arrival at tne inn, and ths 
landlady went off to attend to the newcomers. 

Gwynett put out his light, and went to the window, 
which commanded a view of the courtyard before the inn 
door. A chaise stood in front of the porch, and a couple 
of dismounted troopers were holding their horses close be- 
side it. A man in a military cloak got out of the chaise, 
and Gwynett, by the light of the lantern over the door, 
recognized colonel Douglas. 

“Evidently I am first in the field,” he said to himself. 
“Let us see what their next move will be.” 

He put on his hat and cloak, thrust a couple of pistols 
into his pockets, and went downstairs. The colonel was 
just entering the public room to have some refreshment, 
and the two troopers had gone to the stables. The full 
moon was high in the sky, and the night promised to be 
fine. 

Gwynett went out into the porch, and found that the 
chaise from which Douglas had alighted was still outside, 
with the horse in the shafts. So far it appeared that the 
colonel was not going to remain at the inn. Gwynett 
strolled round to the stables, keeping in the shade, and 
-observed that the riding horses had been unsaddled and 
put in the stalls. Presently the troopers came out with- 
out noticing Gwynett, went into the house, and rejoined 
the colonel in the dining-room. 

Gwynett walked quietly to the front of the inn, and 
looked in through the dining-room window. The three 
men were engaged in earnest conversation, evidently in 
IqW tones. The two troopers were Lambert and Berthon. 
Presently they retired, and the colonel was left alone to 
his meal of bread and meat and wine. 

Gwynett went round to the stables again, under the 
pretext of seeing how his own horse was faring. He 
strolled toward the stalls where the troopers’ horses had 


164 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

been placed, and found that, just at the moment, none of 
the stable helps were about or in sight. He noticed the 
troopers 5 saddles, with their holsters and pistols, hang- 
ing on the stall-posts, and decided that a little precau- 
tion would not be amiss. He therefore took the two pairs 
of pistols from the holsters, shook the powder out of 
the pans, and dipped each of them in a bucket of water 
which stood on the floor. Then he wiped the pistols, re- 
turned them to the holsters, and strolled back to the 
house. 

Noticing that the colonel was still sitting alone at the 
table, Gwynett went to his own room, and again summoned 
the landlady. When she came, Gwynett shut the door and 
inquired, 

“Madame, may I ask you if you know anything of the 
three persons who arrived just now ? 55 

“No, monsieur . 55 

“What are the two horsemen doing at the present mo- 
ment ? 55 

“They are eating their supper in the kitchen, monsieur, 
and standing treat to the hostlers . 55 

“Do } r ou expect them to stay the night ? 55 

“Their master has engaged a room for them over the 
stables, monsieur . 55 

“And one for himself ? 55 

“No, monsieur. He talks of going on as soon as he 
has had his supper. Is monsieur not quite satisfied with 
them ? 55 

Gwynett had formed the opinion that madame THopital 
was a woman of considerable discretion, and he therefore 
replied, 

“Madame, I happen to know that the two men are not 
exactly reputable persons, and I think it would have been 
better if their master had remained with them . 55 

“I will ask ask for payment in advance, monsieur, and 
thank you for the hint . 55 

“Do nothing of the sort, madame — your money is safe 
enough. What I should like to suggest to you, is to find 
out quietly why these men remain behind while the mas- 
ter goes on. Try and do that without exciting any sus- 
picion, and let me know the result as soon as you can. 


King-, by Right Divine 165 

This is between ourselves, madame, and you shall not 
lose by it.” 

Gwynett carelessly took out a handful of louis d’or 
under the eyes of madame l’Hopital, picked out one, and 
handed it to her with a request that she would furnish 
him with small change for it. The landlady went away 
quite convinced of Gwynett’s bona fides and extreme re- 
spectability. 

Presently she returned, shut the door behind her, and 
remarked, 

“Monsieur, the two men have given out that they are 
here to buy horses amongst the farmers for their regi- 
ment in Paris.” 

“And the master?” 

“He is going on to Yerneuil for the same purpose.” 

“When?” 

“As soon as he has finished his supper, monsieur.” 

Gwynett pondered over this information for a minute 
or tw T o. Everything pointed to the chevalier travelling 
by way of Dreux, but there was the remote possibility 
that the announcement, even to the coachman at Chaillot, 
had been a blind, or that the route had been unexpectedly 
altered at the last moment. In either case the chevalier 
might really be following up Douglas’s party along the 
road from St. Andre ; and Gwynett, by confining his. at- 
tention to the direction of Dreux, might miss the chevalier 
altogether at a critical moment. Finally he asked, 

“Madame, do you happen to have a really discreet per- 
son amongst your servants — one who will do what he is 
told, and hold his tongue?” 

The landlady looked a little surprised, but replied, 

“Yes, monsieur, if my son will do. I can always trust 
him myself. He helps in the stables.” 

“Do me the favor to let me see him, madame.” 

The landlady went out, and came back with an honest- 
looking lad of sixteen or seventeen, whom Gwynett had 
seen in the stable-yard when he arrived. 

“This is my son Hoel, monsieur,” said the landlady. 

Gwynett looked observantly at the lad, and feeling satis- 
fied with the result of his scrutiny, asked him, 

“You know the road to St. Andre, Hoel?” 

“Every inch of it, monsieur.” 


1 66 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“I want yon to go along that road for a little way, and 
wait for a carriage to come past, with a picture painted 

on the panels, like this ” and he drew a rough sketch 

of M. de Torcy's arms with a pen upon a sheet of paper. 
The lad looked closely at the sketch, and nodded. 

“You will ask the coachman to stop; and in case he 
might refuse, you had better find some place where the 
ground rises enough to make him walk his horses for a 
little distanced 

“There is a steep hill just about a mile out,” said the 
hoy. “They must walk up that.” 

“Very good,” replied Gwynett. “You will ask the 
traveller in the chaise this question, ‘Monsieur, do you 
understand this ?’ and you will show him this note.” 

Gwynett wrote on the back of the paper : 

“Monsieur, 

“If you come from S.T.,* you will do well to go back 
there — or, at all events, to stay where you are until the 
writer can come to you. 

“Filles de Ste. Marie Therese.” 

“That will not tell too much to the wrong person,” he 
thought to himself, as he handed the piece of paper to the 
lad. 

“And if he does not understand, monsieur ?” 

“Then,” replied Gwynett, “you will whisper to him one 
word — ‘Stair/ If, after that, he still proceeds on his 
journey, leave him alone, notice which road he takes, and 
come back to me here. Put- some food in your pocket, and 
let nobody know what you are about.” 

The lad promised to carry out these instructions faith- 
fully, and retired with the landlady. Gwynett put out his 
light again, and waited for some step on the part of 
colonel Douglas. In a quarter of an hour or so he heard 
a movement of the chaise, and looking out of the window 
he saw Douglas get into the vehicle and drive off, taking 
the road to the west. 

Este. the family name of Maria Beatrice of Modena, the Pre- 
tender’s mother. From her ancestor Guelfo IV.d’Este (1070 A. D. ) 
our present royal house (Este-Guelf) is descended. 


King-, by Right Divine 167 

“To Verneuil, evidently,” thought Gwynett. “So far 
good. Now for the other two.” 

He considered for a minute, and then, opening his 
valise, brought out a pair of blue spectacles, which had 
the effect when worn of making a surprising change in 
his appearance. 

“It is lucky one starts with a poor light,” he solilo- 
quized. “One could not quite rely upon this sort of thing 
in the daytime.” 

He went downstairs, keeping his hat well over his eyes, 
and turning the collar of his cloak up as if for warmth. 
Meeting the landlady in the entrance-hall, he asked in 
an undertone what the two men were doing. 

“They went out, monsieur, about half an hour before 
the officer left.” 

“Mounted, or on foot?” 

“On foot, monsieur, and towards the bridge.” 

This meant the road from Dreux, which crossed the 
river Avre a little way outside Nonancourt. Gwynett 
went to the stables, saddled his horse, and rode away in 
the direction indicated. 

“The chief trouble,” he reflected, as he passed through 
the village, “is that fellow Lambert. Everything depends 
on whether he recognizes me or not. He may not know 
who and what I am, but he must certainly know that I 
am not an habitue of lord Stair’s hotel. And if San- 
son is aware that I am at the Palais-Royal, he has proba- 
bly told Lambert so much. That would be very incon- 
venient. And it is decidedly awkward that, so far, one 
is only going on very vague suspicions. All these three 
fellows are perhaps merely spies, and lord Stair may be 
letting his bird fly with a string to his leg for some pur- 
pose of his own. It would not be at all a bad idea for him 
to let the chevalier go as far as St. Malo, and then get a 
few more birds into the trap. Probably they have a ship 
or two there which would be worth seizing, if the cheva- 
lier pointed them out by going on board.” 

By this time Gwynett, keeping a sharp look-out as he 
rode along, had reached the bridge over the little river 
Avre, on the road between Nonancourt and Dreux, by 
which he had arrived earlier in the day. Neither of the 
two men were to be seen. The moonlight was clear and 


1 68 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

bright, and the night fine. A mile or so away on the 
right appeared the lights of the hamlet of St. Lubin des 
Jocharets, under the forest of Boissy. The road through 
Louvilliers to Dreux stretched away before him, but it 
wound a good deal, and he could not see very far along it. 
As a precaution he dismounted, tied his horse to a bush, 
and climbed down to find if the two men were hiding under 
the bridge. No one was there, so he remounted and went 
on. It was now nearly six o’clock. 

About a mile farther on, the road made a sudden bend, 
and turning the corner, Gwynett saw in front of him two 
men, walking arm-in-arm. 

“That promises well,” he thought. “As it can scarcely 
be affection, it is probably drink.” 

He rode leisurely after the two men, who presently heard 
his horse’s footsteps and turned round. Fortunatefy, the 
moon was directly behind Gwynett, and shone full into the 
men’s faces. They were Lambert and Berthon. 

Gwynett , made up his mind as to his role , and drew rein 
in front of the pair. 

“Kola! Lambert and Berthon!” he called out iiv a 
sharp, peremptory tone, and with a strong North German 
accent. 

The two men stopped without hesitation. 

“Yes, monsieur,” replied Lambert. 

“Which of you is Lambert ?” 

“I, monsieur,” replied that individual. 

“Where is the colonel?” 

“Monsieur,” replied Lambert promptly, <f he has gone on 
to Verneuil.” 

“Since when?” 

“Less than an hour ago, monsieur?” 

“And what the plague are you doing here? Do you 
know, M. Berthon, that you and that girl of yours at the 
convent have bungled matters finely between you ?” 

Berthon, evidently not recognizing Gwynett, replied, 

“How, monsieur? What is the matter?” 

“What made- you suppose the chevalier was coming by 
way of Dreux ?” 

“The girl said so, monsieur.” 

“You are sure of that ?” 

“Quite sure, monsieur.” 


6 9 


King, by Right Divine 

“Well, there is some mistake or some trick. We found 
out, not an hour after you left the hotel Stair, that the _ 
chevalier took the route by Ivry and St. Andre. Either 
the girl was bamboozling you, or you earn your money 
rather clumsily, M. Berthon.” 

Berthon looked quite crestfallen at this rebuke, which 
he seemed to accept without hesitation as coming from 
some one initiated into all the details of colonel Douglas’s 
mission. 

“Pardon, monsieur,” he stammered, “but I could only 
repeat what she said to us, and I feel certain she be- 
lieved it herself.” 

“I have nothing to do with that,” replied Gwynett 
brusquely. “The point now is to remedy the blunder. I 
have come as fast as I could by way of Ivry, but I 
have not overtaken the chevalier, so he must either be in 
front, or be travelling by some side-roads. What has the 
colonel discovered?” 

“Nothing, monsieur. It seems the Pretender ” 

“Get into the habit of saying The chevalier,’ M. Ber- 
thon. There is no occasion to tell everybody we are 
Whigs.” 

“The chevalier, then, monsieur, has not passed through 
Nonancourt, so far as anybody knows.” 

“Well, and what are you doing here?” 

“Watching the road from Dreux, monsieur.” 

“And what are your exact instructions ?” 

“Monsieur, we are to go on until we find a convenient 
place for an ambush, so as to attack the chaise without 
the driver getting any warning. We have masks, and are 
to act as simple highwaymen, demanding money from the 
travellers, and shooting the chevalier in the scuffle. But 
we are not to attack if there are two persons besides the 
driver — only if the chevalier is alone?” 

“And if he is not?” 

“Then we are to hide until he passes, and hurry on 
after him to Vemeuil or wherever we overtake the colonel, 
so as to be a strong enough party.” 

“How are you to know the right vehicle?” 

“It will have arms on the panels, monsieur, and be 
drawn by two grey horses.” 

Gwynett had now learned all that he wanted. It was 


170 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

clear that an assassination was planned, and that if the 
chevalier came np there would be an inconvenient eclair- 
cissement. So he replied, 

“That is all right. I need not give you any other 
orders, at all events until I have seen the colonel. But 
we are simply wasting time here. It is the other road 
you must look after, so get back to Nonancourt at once. 
I suppose your horses are there ?” 

“Yes, monsieur. The colonel took a room for us at the 
post-house, to prevent suspicion.” 

“There is no harm in that. But you must mount guard 
in the road all night, whatever the people at the inn may 
think. At the worst, you must swear that you caiTt re- 
sist the temptation to do a little night-poaching. As for 
myself, I will ride on to Dreux, and see if anything is 
stirring. There is, of course, the off-chance that some 
mystification is on foot, and that there are two chaises, 
travelling by different routes. If the colonel by any 
chance comes back, tell him I will join him as soon as 
possible.” 

“Whom shall we say we have met, monsieur?” 

Gwynett had of course expected this question, and was 
prepared with the name of one of the British agents at 
Nancy, a Mecklenburg gentleman in the pay of lord 
Cadogan at Brussels. He had incidentally heard of this 
personage just before starting, and knew that if he were 
not in Lorraine he would be in Brussels with Cadogan. 

“My name is de Pless,” he replied, “from Commercy. 
Of course you will say nothing at the inn about our meet- 
ing. I shall not know you there.” 

“Very good, monsieur.” 

“And allow me to say, M. Lambert,” remarked Gwynett, 
who thought that a little further indulgence in drink on 
the part of his two companions might judiciously be en- 
couraged, “that you seem to have had as much liquor as 
this business will permit of. With the next bottle you will 
begin to chatter, and as soon as you begin to chatter my 
duty will unfortunately compel me to take you into some 
quiet place, and blow your valuable brains out. I should 
regret that very much. On the other hand, here is a 
crown for you to 'spend in making the people in the 
stables as drunk as you can. It may be useful.” 


King, by Right Divine 171 

Lambert took the money with rather obvious alacrity, 
and went off with his companion. It was clear that 
neither of the j>air had any suspicion of having met 
Gwynett before, and that they accepted his account of 
himself quite implicitly. 

“That will do very well,” thought Gwynett, as he 
watched them fairly on their way back to Nonancourt. 
“And now, if that lad Hoel is not as discreet as he looks, 
those two cut-throats will be none the wiser for his blab- 
bing. But I hope the chevalier will come this way, after 
all. Let us see.” 

He rode off at a trot in the direction of Dreux, but 
met nothing on the road till he had passed the hamlet 
of Louvilliers. Then in the distance he saw a vehicle 
approaching, which turned out to be a chaise drawn by 
two grey horses. He stopped, and waited in the middle 
of the road till the chaise was within a score of yards. 
At this stage the coachman, evidently rather suspicious 
of the cloaked figure blocking the highway, pulled up 
also, and turned round to say something to the other 
occupant of the chaise. 

Gwynett called out, “On the king’s service !” and walked 
his horse forward towards the chaise. 

The hood of the chaise had been put back, and a man 
in the garb of a village cure rose from his seat to see what 
was happening. He was lean, dark, pale, rather good- 
looking, and apparently from twenty-five to thirty years 
of age. 

“What do you want?” he asked curtly. 

“Monsieur,” replied Gwynett, raising his hat, “I am 
expecting someone along this road, and you may be he. 
Will you permit me to look at the arms on your chaise?” 

The traveller hastily threw a rug over the side of the 
chaise so. as to conceal what might be upon the panels, 
and replied, 

“I see no occasion for that, monsieur.” 

This display of caution seemed pretty conclusive to 
Gwynett, and he uncovered. 

“Monsieur,” he remarked, “the person I expect ought 
to know something of two letters of the alphabet — an S 
and a T. Do they remind you of anything?” 

The traveller seemed rather taken aback at this hint. 


172 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“And if they do, monsieur, what then?” 

“May I further suggest, monsieur, that you have left 
two other letters not long ago — M and B?” 

“Why all these questions, monsieur?” 

“Because, monsieur, I wish to be sure that I offer my 
services to the right person.” 

“I ask no services, monsieur.” 

“Possibly, monsieur. But the person I seek needs them 
very much, and they are offered in the name of the owner 
of this ring.” 

Gwynett handed the regent’s signet to the traveller, who 
held it towards the lantern of the chaise, and gave a little 
start of recognition. 

“Well, monsieur,” he said, after a pause, “what is it 
you have to say to me?” 

“Tell me, monsieur, what the letters M. B. stand for?” 

“For one thing, monsieur, they are the initials of my 
mother’s name.” 

“Then, monsieur,” said Gwynett, leaning forward till 

his mouth was close to the traveller’s ear, “you are ?” 

The rest of the question was lost in a whisper. 

The traveller shrugged his shoulders. 

“In France I am nothing but James Stuart,” he re- 
plied. 


King, by Right Divine 


173 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A HIGHWAY ROBBERY. 

A T this open announcement that he was in the presence 
of the chevalier de St. George, Gwynett glanced at 
the driver of the chaise. 

“That is M. Macdonald, my first gentleman of the bed- 
chamber,” said the chevalier, in answer to Gwynett’s 
look. “'One of my most faithful followers. Speak freely 
before him, and do me the favor to be covered.” 

“Monseigneur,” replied Gwynett, putting on his hat, 
“my name is Starhemberg, and I come from monseigneur 
le regent to warn you of an intention to intercept you. 
Your escape has been made known to lord Stair, and three 
of his agents have come to Nonancourt to lie in wait for 
your passing.” 

“How did this happen?” asked the chevalier. 

Gwynett gave a brief account of the circumstances al- 
ready known to the reader. 

“I am greatly indebted to yourself and to M. d’Orleans,” 
remarked the chevalier, when Gwynett had finished. “It 
is evidently my mothers coachman whom that girl at the 
convent has wheedled out of the information. We were 
obliged to consult him about our route, as neither M. 
Macdonald nor myself knew anything of the roads be- 
tween Chaillot and Alengon. And what course do you 
suggest now, monsieur? I suppose the first thing will be 
to arrest these three rascals?” 

“Monseigneur, it is extremely desirable to avoid bring- 
ing you into the matter at all, or I should have availed 
myself of my powers and laid these fellows by the heels 
before now. But then one must give some reason for such 
a thing. It is not convenient to give the real reason, and 
to give none would excite suspicion. Moreover, it was 
not worth while taking any step until I had actually met 
your highness,” 


174 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Well, what is to be done, monsieur?” 

“Now that we have met, monseigneur, I think it will 
be easy to have the men arrested for highway robbery.” 

“But they have done nothing, so far.” 

“Exactly, monseigneur. And therefore I shall now see 
about their doing something. Have you any arms?” 

“Macdonald has a musket under his seat, and we both 
have pistols.” 

“That will do. I will ask your highness to drive on 
slowly, and to pull up at a roadside Calvary about two 
miles from here, if I have not rejoined you before. In the 
meantime, I will go back to arrange matters.” 

Gwynett saluted, turned his horse’s head towards 
Nonancourt, and set off at a gallop. He overtook Lam- 
bert and Berthon almost within sight of the inn, and as 
no one was about he called to them to stop. 

The two men turned round, and in response to Gwynett’s 
signals, retraced their steps to where he had betaken him- 
self to the shadow of a high wall. 

“Have you seen anything?” he asked, keeping up his 
assumed voice. 

“No, monsieur.” 

“All the better. It looks very much as if you were 
right after all. Either the chevalier, or somebody passing 
for him, is at Louvilliers resting his horses, and will 
come on this way at once, if he has not already started.” 

“What are we to do, monsieur?” 

“Carry out the colonel’s instructions, of course. You 
have your pistols?” 

“A pair each, monsieur.” 

“And your masks?” 

“Yes, monsieur. How many people are of the party?” 

“There are only the chevalier and driver, as far as 
I could learn at the inn. The chevalier appears to be 
rather ill, hardly able to keep his seat in the chaise, and 
he will give you no trouble. You are not instructed to 
do any mischief to the driver, I suppose ?” 

“No, monsieur, unless he makes a fuss.” 

“I fancy you will only have to hold a pistol towards him. 
I should recommend you to lay hold of the chevalier and 
drag him into the road. Then you can knock him on the 
head with your pistol butts. Don’t fire except as a last 


King, by Right Divine 175 

resource — one never knows who may be near enough to 
hear the report, and come running up to interfere/' 

“That is quite true, monsieur." 

“And now to your places. Take hold of my stirrup- 
leathers, and run alongside me." 

Gwynett started back at a gentle trot, with the two 
would-be assassins running at his side. In ten minutes 
they had reached a place where a small thicket of high 
furze-bushes formed a sort of hedge for a few yards along 
the roadside. 

“Get behind those bushes," said Gwynett to his com- 
panions. “Wait till the chaise is close upon you, and 
then rush out pistol in hand. Tell the coachman to pull 
up, and keep his seat, on peril of his life. After that, 
you will know how to finish the business." 

“And what of the coachman afterwards, monsieur ?" 

“Oh! I suppose you will blindfold and tie him to the 
carriage, while you make off to join the colonel at Yer- 
neuil." 

“Very good, monsieur. And as to yourself ?” 

“I ? Good Lord ! do you suppose I am going to be 
mixed up with the affair? I am riding to Louvilliers on 
business, and if I come back and find a body in the road, 
with evidences of a highway robbery, why, what on earth 
do I know about it ? Is there anything else ?" 

“No, monsieur." 

“Then I am off. You expect the chevalier any time 
during the next half hour. But if anything goes wrong, 
or there seems to be any change of programme, I shall come 
back, and let you know." 

Gwynett rode off in the direction of Louvilliers, and the 
two men sat down on the dead fern amongst the gorse- 
bushes. Nothing transpired for a quarter of an hour. At 
the end of that time the sound of horses' feet became 
audible in the still air. The pair slipped on their masks, 
got their pistols ready, and waited. 

Before long the chaise, drawn by the two grey horses, 
appeared coming on at a good pace, which was slackened 
as it approached the thicket of furze. The hood of the 
chaise was pulled over, and a traveller in the dress of a 
priest was barely visible as he leaned back in his seat. 

As the vehicle came opposite the thicket, Lambert and 


176 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

Berthon rushed out with a shout, presented their pistols 
at the driver, and ordered him, with a volley of threats, 
to keep quiet and mind his own business. 

“Don’t fire, gentlemen!” cried Macdonald. “I will 
make no resistance, I promise you.” 

“We’ll take care of that,” replied Lambert, going to one 
side of the chaise, while Berthon appeared at the other. 
“Now, M. le cure, your purse and watch, if you please.” 

“I have neither,” came in a feeble voice from the occu- 
pant of the chaise. , 

“Indeed?” replied Lambert. “Let us see.” 

He mounted on the step, and grasped the traveller by the 
shoulder while Berthon told the driver to keep his seat and 
hold up his hands. 

“Get out, monsieur,” said Lambert roughly. 

“I am unable to stand,” replied the traveller. 

“We’ll help you,” said Lambert. “Out with him!” he 
said to Berthon, who leaned over to raise the traveller. 

A pair of hands shot forth like lightning, and seized the 
two assailants by the throat with such a strangling grip 
that neither of the pair had time to utter even an exclama- 
tion of surprise. 

“Now, M. Macdonald!” cried the traveller. 

The driver sprang up, snatched his musket from under 
the seat, and brought down the butt-end of it upon the 
heads, first of Berthon and then of Lambert, with all the 
force he could employ. Berthon fell like a log. But Lam- 
bert, who just at the moment made a desperate struggle 
to escape the choking grasp on his throat, moved sufficiently 
for the blow to pass from his head to his shoulder, which 
it fractured. He gave a yell of pain and terror as the 
traveller flung him down on the roadway, jumped out 
upon him, and twisted his two hands behind his back. 

“See to the other rascal, M. Macdonald,” said the 
traveller. “This one is safe for the present.” 

Macdonald got down, and turned over the body of 
Berthon. 

“This fellow is dead, M. de Starhemberg,” he said. 

“Perhaps that is better for him than the galleys,” re- 
plied Gwynett, who had taken off his spectacles and was 
now speaking in his natural voice. “If you have a piece 
of rope, we will tie his friend up ready for M. le prevot.” 


1 77 


King, by Right Divine 

Lambert was securely bound, and his coat tied over his 
head to prevent him seeing any of the subsequent pro- 
ceedings. He was then laid down by the roadside, to- 
gether with the body of his companion, and the chaise 
was driven back towards Louvilliers. 

A short distance from the village, the chevalier de St. 
George, in the hat and cloak previously worn by Gwynett, 
and sitting on the latter’s horse, was waiting ait the road- 
side. The two re-exchanged the habiliments which they 
had been respectively wearing during the last episode, and 
the Pretender once more appeared in his shovel hat and 
priestly frock. 

“Now you have carried out your plan, monsieur,” said 
the chevalier de St. George, “what is the next step?” 

“Monseigneur, you will recollect that we have still 
colonel Douglas to deal with, and he will certainly find 
out within a few hours that his two cut-throats have 
missed their mark. He will naturally suppose that they 
have been taken for ordinary robbers, and will therefore 
endeavor to supply their places or else try something on 
his own account — that is, if you proceed with your jour- 
ney.” 

“Delay would be disastrous, monsieur.” 

“Nevertheless, monseigneur, I recommend you to hide 
somewhere till I can dispose of the colonel.” 

“Very good, monsieur. But it is getting late.” 

“I suppose, if necessary, you can sleep in the chaise ?” 

“Certainly. We did so last night, under some firs.” 

“Then, monseigneur, the best plan will be to drive into 
the woods up there, while I go forward to a farm I know 
of, where I think you can lodge for a day or two quite 
unobserved and unknown. As to Lambert and his com- 
panion, it would be losing time to attend to them now. 
They must wait. It is after six o’clock, and the farm-folk 
hereabouts will probably be in bed in an hour.” 

“I am quite in your hands, M. de Starhemberg.” 

“Then, monseigneur, let us go forward a little, and we 
shall find a side road on the left towards the forest. We 
will turn up that.” 

“Lead the way, monsieur, and M. Macdonald will drive 
after you.” 

The party turned back towards Louvilliers. At the 


178 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

eastern end of the village n very bad lane left the high- 
way at right angles, and ran to the south-west up the hill- 
side. This lane was followed for a mile and a half, then 
it became an open track through the forest, and Gwynett 
halted on reaching a level place where a little rivulet ran 
across the path. 

“Monseigneur,” he said, “I think you had better re- 
main here while I explore farther. That hollow filled 
with big holly bushes will serve very well to conceal the 
chaise, and if you will stay there for an hour or less, I 
will ride forward, and seek a safe lodging for you.” 

“Very good, monsieur. We have provisions with us, 
so shall not be inconvenienced for the present.” 

Macdonald led the horses of the chaise over the carpet 
of dead leaves into the little glade which Gwynett had 
pointed out, and which enabled the vehicle to be com- 
pletely hidden. The chevalier and his companion began 
their supper upon a pasty and a bottle of wine, -while 
Gwynett rode off to try and discover the farm of Grand- 
pre. 

He kept to the track which they had hitherto followed 
until it crossed another about a mile farther on, at the 
edge of the forest. It was here rather high ground, and 
a couple of farms were in sight at some little distance, on 
the slope of the hill below. It seemed likely that two 
of the intersecting paths would lead to these buildings, 
and Gwynett pulled up to settle which was the more 
promising one to take first. Either of the farms would 
apparently answer the description given by madame 
THopital, and at the moment there did not seem to be 
any particular reason for choosing between them. 

While Gwynett was surveying the expanse of moonlit 
'Country from his standpoint at the cross-roads, a horse’s 
footsteps became audible, and presently a man riding a 
black mare came into view, approaching by the track from 
the right. When this man had arrived within fifty paces, 
Gwynett saw that he was a young fellow of about five- 
and-twenty, dressed in a somewhat provincial but ex- 
travagant fashion, and evidently by rank, if not by any- 
thing else, a country gentleman. He looked at Gwynett 
with a good deal of surprise when the latter raised his 
hat, and asked, 




































































King-, by Right Divine 179 

“Pardon me, monsieur, bnt can yon direct me to the 
farm of Grandpre, where inadame Martigny lives ?” 

“Madame Martigny?” echoed the stranger, in a dubious 
tone, and staring hard at Gwynett. “You want madame 
Martigny, eh ?” 

“I want, in the first instance, the farm of Grandpre, 
monsieur,” replied Gwynett. “I understand madame 
Martigny lives there. Is she not at home at present?” 

“No doubt she is at home,” observed the stranger un- 
graciously. “What do you want with her?” 

Gwynett controlled his impatience at the boorish tone 
and words of his interlocutor, and responded, 

“That is a matter I hope to explain to her, monsieur. 
At present I am only desirous of learning where she lives, 
and I shall be extremely obliged if you will kindly in- 
form me. I presume it is at one of the two farms I see 
yonder.” 

Something in Gwynett’s tone and bearing seemed to 
exercise a certain influence upon the rider of the black 
mare, and after a pause he replied, rather reluctantly, 

“Grandpre is the nearer of the two; but ” 

Gwynett cut the demur short with an expression of 
thanks and a lift of his hat in token of leave-taking, 
and rode away in the direction from which the stranger 
had just come. The latter remained looking after Gwynett 
with a suspicious air, and finally, giving his mare a dis- 
satisfied flick, disappeared into the forest. 

Gwynett noticed a light in the lower windows of the 
farmhouse, which led him to hope that the inmates had not 
yet retired for the night. As he neared the building, 
a sudden barking from an army of dogs heralded his ap- 
proach with sufficient obviousness to bring a figure into 
the open doorway of the porch facing him. It was that 
of a young girl, who quieted the dogs and then waited, a 
black silhouette against the light from the wood fire of 
the room beyond. As Gwynett rode up to the porch, he 
recognized Sanson’s niece, whom he had seen at St. Cloud 
with the princesse Palatine. 

“Mademoiselle Thekla Martigny, if I mistake not?” he 
asked, as he drew bridle before the door. 

“Yes, M. de Starhemberg,” replied the girl, looking 


180 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

up in the moonlight, and conveying a 'good deal of co- 
quettish welcome in the smile which lit up her face. 

“And this is the farm of Grandpre, I presume? Can 
I have the honor of speaking to madame Martigny ?” 

The girl stepped on one side, and took hold of the 
bridle of GwynetCs horse. 

“Enter, monsieur, if you will be so good, 
is within, and at your service.” 


My mother 


King, by Right Divine 


181 


CHAPTER XIX. 

GRANDPRE. 

G WYNETT dismounted and, after hitching his 
bridle to the porch, followed Thekla into the front 
room of the house. An elderly woman, with a 
somewhat austere cast of countenance, was sitting in a 
high-backed chair on the farther side of the wood fire. 
She looked up inquiringly at the visitor as he entered. 

“Mother,” said the girl, “this is M. de Starhemberg, 
whom you know about.” 

Madame Martigny rose, and executed a profound curt- 
sy* 

“Monsieur is very welcome,” she said, with a slight re- 
laxation of her previous severity of mien. “Will he do 
us the honor to be seated?” 

She pointed to a chair opposite her own beside the 
deep ingle, waited till Gwynett had taken his seat, and 
then, at a courteous signal from him, sat down again her- 
self. 

“Madame,” begun Gw}mett, “I intrude upon you at a 
very late hour, but I have been delayed on my way hither. 
I have been given to understand that you let lodgings oc- 
casionally, and the object of my visit is to ask if it would 
be convenient to you to accommodate two friends of mine 
with rooms for a day or two.” 

Madame Martigny bowed, and seemed to hesitate a little 
before replying. 

“Monsieur's friends are no doubt gentlemen from 
Paris?” she asked, in a slightly dubious tone. 

Gwynett noticed that Thekla frowned at this inquiry, 
and tapped her foot on the floor impatiently. 

“No, madame,” he replied, “they are from the prov- 
inces.” 

“Monsieur will pardon the question, but he will under- 
stand that the ways of gentlemen from Paris are not al- 


182 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

together the ways of farming folk in the country. If I 
were alone it would not matter. But I have a very silly 
daughter,” she added, with a severe glance at Thekla. 

The girl reddened, and remarked with a vexed laugh, 

“Monsieur will understand that my mother looks upon 
all gentlemen from Paris as ogres, and all country girls 
as little children who are ready to be eaten up without 
saying a word.” 

‘Monsieur will understand that I have to supply com- 
mon sense and self-respect for two people,” retorted 
madame Martigny. “In the meantime, Thekla, you had 
better give monsieur’s horse a mouthful of hay.” 

The girl said no more, but went out into the porch. 
Gwynett recognized that he had to deal with a somewhat 
critical personage, and began to suspect the reason for 
it. 

“Madame,” he replied, “your hesitation is very intel- 
ligible, and I do not say you are wrong; but my two 
friends will, I think, be too much occupied with their 
own affairs even to pay mademoiselle the compliments to 
which her good looks entitle her — and which I suspect 
she has been in the habit of receiving.” 

“Monsieur,” said madame Martigny, “that is just it. 
Thekla is too pretty to be left in the way of young gentle- 
men who desire nothing better than to make fools of 
young girls who are below them in station. That is why, 
for the last two years, I have taken no lodgers. Our 
family has always been proud of its good name, and I do 
not wish it to be lost — while I am alive, at all events. 
Bertha, Thekla’ s sister, is in good hands, as monsieur per- 
haps knows. Madame duchesse d’Orleans is very partic- 
ular in her household. But out here everything is dull 
for young people, I have no doubt, and — I am quite sure 
monsieur will excuse what I have said.” 

“Madame, permit me to assure you that I should not 
interest myself on behalf of anyone of whom I had a bad 
opinion. It would of course have been easy for my 
friends to stay at the ‘Cerf Dore’ at Nonancourt, where 1 
am myself. But they prefer something quite retired, if it 
can be arranged.” 

“Such poor accommodation as we have is quite at the 
service of monsieur’s friends. When will it be required?” 


King*, by Right Divine 183 

“Could they be received to-night, madame? They are 
on the road between here and Louvilliers." 

“Certainly, monsieur/’ 

“Then, madame, I will go and let them know of your 
obliging consent. Perhaps you will allow me to add to 
what I just now remarked — about my friends preferring 
retirement — that the less said about their being here the 
better. One knows that in country . places people's kind- 
ness and hospitality sometimes leads to visits being paid, 
or invitations given " 

“Be easy, monsieur. No one will intrude upon the 
gentlemen, and they need not be seen even by our farm 
servants unless they choose." 

“Very good, madame." 

“May one ask your friends' names, monsieur?" 

“Macdonald, madame. You would not suppose them 
to be brothers; but it is surprising how unlike each other 
members of a family contrive to be occasionally. There 
will be room in your outhouses for their chaise and two 
horses, no doubt?" 

“Plenty of room, monsieur." 

A few words were exchanged as to terms, and then 
Gwynett rose. 

“Madame," he said, “I will direct my friends here, and 
then return to Nonancourt. I wish you good night." 

He went out, and found the girl in the porch, holding 
his horse's bridle. 

“You may expect the messieurs Macdonald in an hour 
or less, mademoiselle, and I trust they will put madame 
and yourself to no inconvenience." 

“Ah! they are coming, then?" asked Thekla, in a satis- 
fied tone. 

“Yes. I am now going back to direct them on their 
way." 

“May one ask how monsieur found us himself?" 

Gwynett had just mounted, and he leaned over to answer 
this question in a lower tone than he had used before. 

“Mademoiselle, it is perhaps lucky you did not ask me 
that before madame Martigny." 

“Why, monsieur?" 

“Because 1 might have replied that I was directed here 


184 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

by a person who seemed to be coming from Grandpre — 
on a black mare.” 

The girl turned very red, and her mouth half opened 
with a frightened look as Gwynett raised his hat, and 
rode off. Then she shrugged her shoulders, smiled to her- 
self, and went into the house. 

Arrived at the little glade of holly bushes, Gwynett 
found the chevalier and Macdonald as he had left them. 
No one had come within hearing, and the cavalier on the 
black mare had evidently passed through the forest in 
some other direction. Gwynett announced the success of 
his negotiation at Grandpre, and indicated the road 
thither, remarking finally, 

“Monseigneur, I need not urge upon you to be circum- 
spect in allowing anyone, other than madame Martigny 
and her daughter, to see you during the time you remain 
at the farm. It is impossible to be secure against ac- 
cidental recognition if you leave the house, and that might 
lead to most unfortunate results.” 

“Without doubt, monsieur.” 

“I have prepared them for finding you a complete her- 
mit, monseigneur, so that there is no occasion to run any 
risk till I can come back and release you. In the event 
of any unforseen accident preventing my return, or even 
unduly delaying it, M. Macdonald had better go to Nonan- 
court in the first instance, or if necessary to M. de Torcy, 
to find out what is wrong.” 

“I thank you very much for the trouble you have taken, 
monsieur. Certainly, I will adopt the precautions you 
recommend.” 

“May I ask, monseigneur, if you have a change of clothes 
with you?” 

. “Yes. Do you suggest I should drop this disguise of 
mine ?” 

“I think it has served its purpose, monseigneur, and 
might now do more harm than good — especially if colonel 
Douglas got to know of it.” 

“Very well. I will put on something else at once.” 

“I wish you good evening, monseigneur.” And Gwynett 
rode away. 

The chaise was drawn out of the little glade into the 


King, by Right Divine 185 

pathway, and the chevalier, after changing his dress, drove 
off with Macdonald in the direction of Grandpre. 

Gwynett went back to the spot where Lambert had 
been left with the body of Berthon, and found that worthy 
lying where he had been placed, and half dead with cold. 
It was nearly ten o’clock, and most of the lights in Lou- 
villiers seemed to be extinguished. But Gwynett de- 
cided to try and make use of the tavern he had passed in 
the little village before arriving at the “Cerf Dore.” He 
therefore untied the rope which bound Lambert’s ankles 
together, set him on his feet by the horse, and fastened 
his wrist to the off-stirrup. He then placed the body of 
Berthon across the saddle, and secured it as well as he 
was able by means of the curb-rein. Lambert’s head was 
of course still muffled in his coat, as Gwynett did not 
wish to give any opportunity for his own dress or his 
horse being recognized by the prisoner. 

“Now, M. le brigand,” he said, when these prepara- 
tions were finished, “be good enough to walk forward 
alongside the horse. If you make any ridiculous attempt 
to escape you are a dead man.” 

Lambert muttered some unintelligible words in his 
headgear, and slouched along after the horse, while 
Gwynett, bridle in one hand and pistol in the other, 
kept him company. Ten minutes’ walking brought them 
io the village inn, and it happened that the landlord had 
not yet gone to bed. At a summons from Gwynett he 
came to the door, and stared with a good deal of surprise 
at the group in the roadway. 

“Monsieur,” explained Gwynett, “a friend and myself, 
travelling from Dreux, have been attacked by these two 
brigands on the highway near here. One of them has 
been killed, and the other is here a prisoner. I want to 
asl< you to take charge of him until to-morrow, when he 
shall be handed over to M. le prevot. Of course, you 
shall be paid liberally for your trouble.” 

Gwynett accompanied these words by the display of a 
handful of louis d’or, and the landlord, impressed by this 
proof of solvency, agreed to do what was needed to further 
the ends of justice. Accordingly. Lambert was led to the 
stables in the yard, where he could be under lock and 
key, and the body of Berthon was placed in an adjoin- 


186 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

ing shed. When this was done, Gwynett took the land- 
lord aside, and remarked, 

“These fellows had an accomplice, monsieur, who proba- 
bly knows nothing of what has befallen his comrades. It 
is therefore extremely important that this man should 
not be able to send any letter or message to anyone, by 
way of warning. Can you manage to prevent people 
holding any communication with him till he is in cus- 
tody ?” 

“I will take care of that, monsieur.” 

“Very good. Then here is a half-louis for your ex- 
penses, and another for your discreet assistance to jus- 
tice.” 

The host pocketed the coins with effusive gratitude, and 
asked if there were any further instructions. 

“Secure his feet again,” replied Gwynett, “and as soon 
as I have gone, take the coat off his head and throw it 
over him as he lies on the straw. I only tied it over 
him for my own convenience. Would you prefer the 
prevot’s people to come here, or to receive him from you 
somewhere else?” 

“Let them come here, by all means, monsieur. May one 
ask monsieur’s name, in case the authorities should ask 
questions before monsieur informs them?” 

“Say M. Macdonald, monsieur, of Nancy. Who is the 
prevot of these parts?” 

The landlord mentioned an officiaTs name, and added, 

“But M. le grand prevot de la Haute Normandie is 
the chief magistrate, monsieur, and he lives nearer than 
M. le prevot. It is M. le baron de Bauge, at the 
chateau.” 

“That will do as well or better,” replied Gwynett. “No 
doubt you will be relieved of your charge in the morn- 
ing. Good night, monsieur.” 

Gwynett made his way back to the “Cerf Dore” as fast 
as his horse would take him, and found the landlady be- 
ginning to be curious about his prolonged absence. After 
repeating his previous story of having been attacked by 
foot-pads on the road to Louvilliers, he inquired about 
the lad Hoel, and was told that he had not returned. He 
therefore rode out on the highway to St. Andre for a mile 
or so, till he reached the hill-top spoken of by Hoel 


King, by Right Divine 1S7 

Here he stopped, and whistled two or three times. The 
signal received prompt response in the person of the lad 
himself, who emerged from a clump of trees just ahead, 
and came forward to meet Gwynett. 

“You can go back, my lad,” said the latter. “The per- 
son I was expecting will not come this way.” 

Hoel seemed rather pleased to be relieved of his cold 
vigil, and walked alongside Gwynetffs horse as they re- 
turned to the “Cerf Dore.” Gwynett took the opportu- 
nity of seeking a little local information, and asked as 
to the whereabouts of M. le grand prevot. 

“Monsieur,” replied Hoel, “the chateau de Boissy 
is not far from here, at the edge of the forest.” 

“ToAvard Grandpre?” 

“Ho, monsieur — quite the other side.” 

“Is M. le baron usually at home?” 

“YYs, monsieur. He has the gout, and cannot get away 
from home very often. They say he is very bad tem- 
pered, and has furious quarrels with M. le chevalier de 
Bauge — that is why M. le chevalier is at home as little 
as he can help. But he is there just now. I saw him on 
his black mare this morning.” 

“A black mare, eh?” repeated Gwynett. “What is the 
chevalier like?” 

Hoel gave a description which corresponded so closely 
with that of the horseman who had directed Gwynett to 
Grandpre, that the latter had no doubt of his identity. 

“That accounts for his black looks,” he reflected. “Evi- 
dently mademoiselle Thekla is flying at high game. But 
whether madame Martigny knows anything about it is 
another matter. It is clear the old lady is somewhat of a 
precisian.” 

The next day he rode over to the chateau de Boissy and 
requested an interview with the baron de Bauge. After 
some little delay, he was ushered into the presence of an 
elderly gentleman, who was sitting in an arm-chair with 
his foot bandaged and laid up on a stool, and whose ex- 
pression of face rather bore out HoeTs description of his 
temper and' his family differences. He bowed as Gwynett 
entered, and apologized for his inability to rise. 

“Well, M. de Starhemberg,” he proceeded rather sourly, 
“what is your business with me ?” 


188 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“M. le baron, I am in this neighborhood on an affair 
connected with the department of M. d’Argenson, lieu- 
tenant-general of police, and have to request your co-opera- 
tion in the name of monseigneur le regent himself.” 

“Probably you have some credentials, monsieur,” re- 
marked the baron. 

Gwynett bowed, and handed to him the regent’s letter, 
at the sight of which the baron’s expression changed a 
good deal. 

“You have somewhat extensive powers, monsieur,” he 
said, in a tone of considerable surprise, and with more 
courtesy, as he handed back the letter. “What can I do for 
you ?” 

“M. le baron, we have an affair in hand of some deli- 
cacy. There appears to be a system of highway robbery, 
organized by persons of good standing, who are in a posi- 
tion to learn the intended movements of wealthy travellers. 
You can therefore understand that extreme discretion is 
necessary. We shall have to make certain arrests, and ask 
no questions — at all events at this stage — lest we should 
get altogether too compromising answers.” 

“That is quite intelligible. But have you had any actual 
cases ?” 

“Yes. Curiously enough, I myself was the subject of an 
attempt last night, probably by mistake for someone else.” 

“In this neighborhood ?” 

“Near Louvilliers. A companion of mine, however, dis- 
posed of one of the brigands by a blow from his musket, 
and I captured the other. I have come to ask for his 
formal arrest and imprisonment until the matter can be 
gone into. But as things have turned out, I prefer to do 
so unofficially. You will be good enough to consider me a 
mere private individual, reporting to you an open crime 
upon the highroad, and seeking the aid of justice in the 
ordinary way. In fact, I will take upon myself to make 
my complaints to you in the name of my companion, M. 
Macdonald, instead of my own.” 

“Certainly, monsieur, if you prefer.” 

“Then we have rather special reasons for suspecting a 
third man, and I have to ask you to assist in arresting him 
as soon as he can be lighted on. It is one colonel Douglas, 
who is attached to the British embassy.” 


189 


King, by Right Divine 

' “Bather awkward, that ?” 

“Yes. But as I myself saw him arrive at the ‘Cerf 
Dore’ at Nonancourt, in close company with the two men 
who afterwards attacked my companion and myself, there 
is ample excuse for an arrest, whatever explanation might 
be forthcoming afterwards. The authority I have shown 
you will relieve you of any ultimate responsibility in the 
matter.” 

“That is all that is required. But suppose this man 
pleads privilege ?” 

“He must not be listened to, and he must be put out of 
sight with as little fuss as possible. We can apologize 
afterwards, if appearances turn out to be deceptive.” 

“Very well, monsieur. You can have as many of my 
exempts as you require. Where shall they be placed at 
your disposal?” 

“I think you had better give me three, M. le baron — one 
of them can hear the warrant, so that I need not appear 
personalty. They should meet me at Yerneuil, where the 
colcnel was last heard of.” 

“Very good, monsieur. You may expect them at noon.” 

“In disguise, M. le baron, by preference — say as trav- 
elling wool-merchants. Let them ask at the post-house for 
f M. de Plessd ” 

“Anything else, monsieur?” 

“Nothing, M. le baron, I thank you. I shall do myself 
the pleasure of reporting your courteous reception to mon- 
seigneur le regent.” 

“I shall be honored. May my housekeeper offer you any 
hospitality ? I cannot offer you my company, unfortunate- 
ly, as this infernal foot of mine is getting intolerable.” 

Gwynett hastened to waive any further claim on the 
baron’s leisure or politeness, and took his leave forthwith. 

From the chateau de Bauge he rode leisurely to Yerneuil, 
and found that a person answering to the description of 
Douglas had been staying at the post-house there, hut was 
at the moment absent. He had, however, ordered his 
dinner to be prepared for him, and was therefore expected 
back during the afternoon. 

Gwynett ordered a bottle of wine, and sat in the public 
room till the three exempts made their appearance, which 
they did about half an hour afterwards. The leader of the 


190 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

party presented a letter to Gwynett from the baron de 
Bauge. It ran : 

“Monsieur, 

“The man Lambert is in custody. On searching him and 
the body of his companion, both were found to be provided 
with passports, purporting to be signed by milord Stair. 
This circumstance, which may be important to you, will, 
of course, be kept secret. de Bauge.” 

“The deuce !” thought Gwynett, “that puts the fat in the 
fire, with a vengeance. If Douglas has gone to seek news 
of his two henchmen, and hears any, he will know that the 
passports must have been found, and he will vanish. All 
the better for the chevalier, perhaps.” 

The afternoon passed away without any appearance of 
the colonel, and this gave Gwynett the impression that his 
conjecture had already proved correct. He, therefore, fully 
instructed the exempts as to their programme, and went 
back to Nonancourt. Here no one appeared to have seen 
Douglas, and he rode on to Louvilliers. Nothing had oc- 
curred there of the least importance, and the removal of 
Lambert and the body of Berthon had not been the subject 
of inquiry by any stranger. Gwynett was rather puzzled, 
and returned to sup and sleep at the “Cerf Dore.” 

In the early morning he rode off to Verneuil, and found 
things as he had left them. The exempts had passed for 
wool-merchants, and kept up the character by making in- 
quiries about the supply and price of wool in the neighbor- 
hood. Nothing had been seen or heard of Douglas. 

Gwynett then went on some miles in the direction of 
Alengon. Near Mortagne he heard that a gentleman was 
laid up at the post-house there, with a severe feverish attack 
caught by sleeping in damp sheets. On inquiry, he found 
that the invalid was most likely the colonel, and that there- 
fore he probably knew nothing of the fate of his subordi- 
nates. It was stated that the gentleman expected to be well 
enough to leave his bed the next morning, and intended in 
that case to go to Verneuil and beyond. 

This seemed to Gwynett to settle the identity of the un- 
known, and he despatched a messenger to summon the ex- 
empts from Verneuil. The party kept watch and guard 


King, by Right Divine 191 

over the post-house until the morning, and as soon as the 
invalid was announced to he stirring, he was quietly ar- 
rested in his room by the chief exempt. 

The prisoner proved to be Douglas, and amongst his 
papers was found a passport, signed by lord Stair. This 
was taken possession of by Gwynett. After some little de- 
lay, a closed carriage was procured and the colonel taken 
away in it. 

It was dusk before Gwynett had covered the thirteen or 
fourteen leagues between Mortagne and Wonancourt. He 
therefore postponed any visit to the chevalier until the 
morrow, and occupied his evening with drawing up a brief 
report of his proceedings so far, for transmission to the 
regent. 


192 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XX. 

M. LE CAPITAINE ROUSSEAU. 

I X the morning Gwynett despatched his letter to the regent 
by the post, and set out to report matters to the 
chevalier de St. George at Grandpre. He arrived at 
the farm about ten o’clock and was told by Thekla that 
the younger of the supposed brothers Macdonald was still 
in bed and presumably asleep, but that the elder was in the 
stable yard. Gwynett accordingly walked round there 
with his horse, and found Macdonald engaged in oiling 
and testing a massive old lock and key which secured the 
door of one of the coach-houses. Inside this coach-house 
was the chaise in which the chevalier and Macdonald had 
travelled from Chaillot. 

The two gentlemen exchanged greetings, and Gwynett, 
pointing to the key in the other’s hand, remarked, 

“You seem to have some little doubt about the “honesty 
of folks in these parts, M. Macdonald.” 

Macdonald looked out of the corner of his eye at 
Gwynett, and then replied phlegmatically, 

“This chaise happens to be borrowed, M. de Starhem- 
berg, and one ought to take all reasonable precautions with 
other people’s property.” 

“I do not think M. de Torcy would expect or desire any 
precautions which might have the effect of exciting sus- 
picion,” said Gwynett carelessly. 

“Ah!” ejaculated Macdonald, in an enlightened tone. 
“Well, M. de Starhemberg, as you know that much, you 
may perhaps as well know a little more. It is not only the 
chaise we have to take care of.” 

Gwynett glanced at the chaise, and the shape of the 
seat, and then observed, 

“I do not think you need take any more trouble at 
Grandpre either about the chaise or what it carries, mon- 
sieur. I have come to say that all our three opponents are 


King-, by Right Divine 193 

disposed of, and to release the chevalier from his detention. 
The sooner he resumes his journey the better.” 

“I will see if he is awake,” replied Macdonald, as he 
w r ashed his hands in a bucket of water at the pump. “We 
were playing cards till the small hours this morning. Let 
us go indoors.” 

Macdonald went into the house and upstairs, while 
Gwynett paid his respects to madame Martigny. Present- 
ly Macdonald came down again, and invited Gwynett to the 
chevalier's room. 

“My brother finds himself a little indisposed,” he re- 
marked, obviously for the benefit of madame Martigny, 
“or he would not put you to the trouble.” 

Gwynett went up to a large room over the kitchen, and 
found the chevalier sitting up in bed. Macdonald closed 
the door, and remarked, 

“You need not be afraid of being overheard, M. de 
Starhemberg. I have tested all that.” 

“Good day, monsieur,” said the chevalier. “Excuse my 
want of ceremony, but I am far from well.” 

Gwynett bowed, and looked attentively at the chevalier. 
But as he failed to observe any particular indications of ill- 
ness, he replied, 

“I regret to hear it, monseigneur. But I hope it will not 
prevent you being able to resume your journey. M. Mac- 
donald will have already told you that the coast is clear, 
and that, so far, no suspicion seems to have been aroused.” 

“I am immensely indebted for your good offices, mon- 
sieur, and think you have managed admirably. Of course, 
I must go on to St. Malo as soon as possible. But at the 
moment, I assure you, I feel quite unable to travel.” 

“If your highness would like medical advice, I will en- 
deavor to obtain it.” 

“Heavens ! no — these country leeches would keep me on 
my back a month.” 

“By to-morrow, monseigneur, I could bring someone 
from Paris or Versailles — M. Marechal, for example?” 

“That would start everybody gossiping. No, no, my 
dear M. de Starhemberg. It will only be for a day or two. 
Probably it is not convenient for you to remain longer in 
the neighborhood, and if so, do not let me tax your good- 
nature any further.” 


194 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Monseigneur, I hold myself responsible to fnonseignenr 
le regent for your safe departure from France, so that I 
am entirely at your disposal.” 

The chevalier did not look particularly grateful for this 
assurance. 

“Perhaps, then, monsieur,” he said, “it will put you to 
the least trouble if I ask you to be good enough to await 
news from me at Nonancourt.” 

“Certainly, mon seigneur. I will make a point of calling 
upon you to-morrow morning.” 

“By no means, monsieur,” said the chevalier hastily. “I 
could not think of troubling you. The moment I feel 
again able to travel, I will send Macdonald to let you know. 
Is there anything else you have to tell me ?” 

“Nothing, monseigneur,” replied Gwynett, accepting his 
dismissal. “My best wishes for your speedy convalescence.” 

Macdonald escorted Gwynett downstairs and to the 
porch. 

“This indisposition comes a little inconveniently, mon- 
sieur,” he remarked apologetically, after glancing round 
to see that they were alone. 

“What is the matter with the chevalier ?” asked Gwynett 
abruptly, and looking rather hard at his companion. 

Macdonald shrugged his shoulders, and gazed with an 
expressionless face at the distant landscape as he replied, 

“The chevalier takes fancies occasionally. I do my best 
to combat them, for many reasons. I hope I may be suc- 
cessful in the present instance.” 

“There is urgent need for haste,” remarked Gwynett. 
“It is very unlikely that the chevalier’s departure from 
Lorraine can escape publicity for more than a few days. 
The moment it is publicly known, the regent will be 
driven to take action, and have all the roads and sea- 
ports watched.” 

“I will fully impress all you say upon the chevalier. I 
shall hope to bring word to you very shortly.” 

“The sooner the better,” replied Gwynett, walking off 
to the stable yard for his horse. 

Just after he had mounted, Thekla made her appearance 
from the dairy, and offered to open and shut the gate lead- 
ing from the yard to the road. Gwynett expressed a hope 


King*, by Right Divine 195 

that the visitor’s temporary ailment would not put madame 
Martigny or herself to any inconvenience. 

“What is the matter, then, monsieur?” asked the girl, 
evidently a little surprised. 

“I did not learn,” replied Gwynett, “Probably nothing 
of any consequence, or you would have heard before this.” 

At this moment a horseman, riding along the road, came 
into view. He was an elderly, red-faced man, in a military 
dress, and with somewhat the air of an old campaigner. He 
raised his hat to Thekla with a smile which was half a leer, 
looked rather significantly at Gwynett, and proceeded on 
Ills way without stopping. Gwynett noticed that Thekla 
turned rather red at the rencontre, and looked down upon 
the ground as she closed the gate after him. 

“That is M. le capitaine Rousseau,” she explained hast- 
ily. “A friend of M. le chevalier de Bauge, at the chateau. 
He lodged here once.” 

She dropped a curtsy and ran back to the house, while 
Gwynett proceeded on his way to Nonancourt. 

“Is it since then that madame Martigny has ceased to 
take lodgers, I wonder ?” he thought to himself. “If so, it 
is certain the old lady has some penetration.” 

Arrived at the “Cerf Dore” Gwynett sent off a further 
report to the regent, and set himself, in no particularly 
good humor, to fill up his leisure while awaiting the ex- 
pected summons from the chevalier. Having learned that 
some fishing could be had by applying for permission to 
the baron de Bauge, he sent off Hoel with a note requesting 
the privilege. This was promptly conceded, and he spent 
the rest of the day endeavoring, with more or less success, 
to fill his basket with certain mediaeval carp from a pond 
near the hamlet of St. Remy. 

Neither the next day nor the morning after brought any 
message from the chevalier, and Gwynett began to be con- 
siderably dissatisfied about matters. He therefore decided 
to disregard the chevalier’s hint, and to pay a visit of in- 
quiry at Grandpre without waiting for an invitation 

After breakfast he mounted his horse and rode off to the 
farm. On arriving there he found no one in the house ex- 
cept madame Martigny, who told him that her elder guest 
had gone to Louvilliers to have one of the grey horses shod, 
and that the younger had left the house an hour before 


196 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

with the expressed intention of taking a little exercise in 
the freshjair. 

“In which direction, madame?” asked Gwynett. 

“By the footpath between here and the forest, mon- 
sieur,” replied madame Martigny, pointing to a track np 
the hillside. 

Gwynett put his horse in the stable and went off to seek 
the chevalier in the direction indicated. The path led into 
some thick coppice-wood, and then divided to the right 
and left up the slope of the hill. He followed the former 
for some time without seeing or hearing anything of the 
chevalier, and then turned back. 

Here and there the coppice had little glades which 
opened out into the fields. In returning, Gwynett fol- 
lowed one of these glades in order to look out over the open 
country. As soon as he was clear of the trees he surveyed 
the hill slope, and thought he saw a man’s figure 'half a 
mile below him, passing behind a hedge towards the farm. 
It was apparently in black velvet clothes, and might there- 
fore be the chevalier. As there was no nearer route back 
than by the path he had just left, Gwynett returned to it, 
and presently found himself at the point where the two 
tracks united. 

As he reached it the girl Thekla appeared, approaching 
him by the other pathway, and curtsied in response to his 
salute. 

“Good morning, mademoiselle,” said Gwynett. “I have 
been looking for the younger M. Macdonald. Have you 
seen anything of him ?” 

Thekla looked away in the direction of the farm, and re- 
plied with some little confusion, 

“I think monsieur’s friend was down in one of the pas- 
tures a little while ago, near the house. I have been seek- 
ing one of our cows, which has strayed ; but it is not this 
way, so I am going on farther down the hill.” 

As this seemed to suggest that the chevalier was prob- 
ably now at the farm, Gwynett turned to accompany 
Thekla homewards, and they walked on a little distance to- 
gether. 

Befare, however, they were clear of the coppice, foot- 
steps were heard behind and a man overtook them. As he 
went by, Gwynett recognized the captain Rousseau, who 


197 


King, by Right Divine 

had ridden past the gate of Grandpre on the occasion of 
his last visit. The captain saluted Tliekla with great em- 
pressement , and looked inquiringly at Gwynett. 

“I trust mademoiselle, and also madame her mother, are 
quite well,” he remarked. “Will mademoiselle do me the 
favor to make me acquainted with this gentleman who 
honors our miserable neighborhood with his presence?” • 

Thekla seemed annoyed at this suggestion, and per- 
formed the required introduction rather sulkily. 

“M. de Starhemberg, this is M. le capitaine Eousseau, a 
friend of M. le chevalier de Bauge.” 

The two gentlemen saluted, and the captain, looking 
rather hard at Gwynett, observed, 

“Monsieur is probably staying at Grandpre ?” 

“No, monsieur. I have a room at the ‘Cerf Dore at 
Nonancourt.” 

“Indeed ! A very comfortable house. If it would not be 
disagreeable to monsieur, I would ask permission to do 
myself the pleasure of calling upon him there.” 

Gwynett bowed, without at all reciprocating this solici- 
tude for his society, and replied, 

“My movements are uncertain, monsieur, and it unfor- 
tunately happens that I may leave the ‘Cerf Dore* at any 
hour.” 

“Possibly to return to Paris?” hazarded the captain, 
with a persistence which began to annoy Gwynett. 

“Possibly, monsieur,” he replied curtly. 

“Because,” explained the captain blandly, “if monsieur 
were returning to Paris, I should be enraptured to offer 
him the hospitality of my hotel. In the meantime, if I 
should be passing the f Cerf Dore/ and have the good for- 
tune to hear that monsieur is still there, perhaps he will 
permit me to present my compliments to him ?” 

“Monsieur does me too much honor,” replied Gwynett, 
raising his hat as a hint that he wished to proceed on his 
way. 

“On the contrary, monsieur,” returned the captain, with 
a corresponding salute, and standing on one side to permit 
Gwynett and Thekla to pass on. 

Mademoiselle,” said Gwynett, as soon as they were out 
of hearing, “it appears to me that strangers have no occa- 
sion to complain of neglect in this part of the world.” 


1 98 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“It is an old fool, whom I detest/" replied Thekla angrily. 
“I beg monsieur to take no notice of his meddling, lie 
gives himself all those airs because M. le chevalier de 
Bauge makes a boon companion of him when he has no 
other friends at hand."" 

By this time the farm was reached, and Thekla offered to 
see if the chevalier had returned. This proved to be the 
case, and Gwynett was asked to go up to his room. The 
chevalier was lounging on a sort of settee, and looked up 
with a languid air as Gwynett entered. 

“Good day, monsieur,"" he said. “I am sorry to have 
given you so much trouble. I was out, trying to get a little 
strength from the fresh air."" 

“I hope you find yourself better, monseigneur."" 

“A little — only a little. My day and night travelling 
from Commercy and the abominable roads seem to have 
knocked me up altogether. But I am better, decidedly. 
In a few days, perhaps •"" 

“Permit me to suggest, monseigneur, that the resump- 
tion of your journey by easy stages would enable you to 
reach the coast without undue fatigue, and then the sea 
air may be relied on to give you renewed vigor."" 

“So they say/" replied the chevalier, with a yawn. “I 
have not seen the sea since I was a baby in arms, so I can- 
not tell."" 

“I presume, monseigneur, you are alive to the risk of 
finding the coast blockaded by admiral Byng, if your 
escape has been made known to him ?"" 

“I fancy Byng will not leave the mouth of the Seine as 
long as there is anything of ours there for him to steal. 
Probably you are aware, monsieur, that most of our arms 
and stores are deposited at Havre ?"" 

“Monseigneur, I am afraid you really underrate the 
danger of delay. Lord Stair will naturally draw some 
conclusion from colonel Douglas"s disappearance. He will 
take some fresh step, and whatever step he may take will 
be to your disadvantage."" 

The chevalier moved a little restlessly. 

“Well, monsieur/" he said, “we will see how I feel 
to-morrow. Nothing can be done till then, as Macdonald 
has had to see to one of our horses, which has cast a 


King-, by Right Divine 199 


shoe. 

ill.” 


The only blacksmith in these parts seems to be 


“If that is all, monseigneur, I can manage that myself. 
Shoeing is the one accomplishment on which I pride 
myself / 7 

“Good Lord !” ejaculated the chevalier, in a discomfited 
tone. “Well — to-morrow, then, monsieur.” 

Gwynett saw no use in persisting further, so bowed and 
withdrew. On inquiry below, he found that Macdonald 
had not returned. There was apparently nothing for it 
but to go back to Nonancourt and wait until the next 
day. 

He therefore extended his ride through St. Remy and 
St. Germain for the purpose of seeing the neighboring 
country, and found his way back to the “Cerf Dore” at 
about three o’clock. He took his horse to the stables, 
and noticed a couple of mares standing saddled in the 
next stalls. One of them was black, and he fancied it 
looked like the mare ridden by M. de Bauge. 

On entering the house, he ordered his dinner to be pre- 
pared, and went to his room. Presently madame THopital 
came up, and intimated that a gentleman wished to see 
him. 

“Who is it, madame?” 

“M. le capitaine Rousseau, monsieur.” 

“Is there a good fire in the dining-room, madame?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“Ask M. le capitaine in there, and say I will come to 
him at once.” 


200 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTEK XXI. 

A MESSAGE. 

W HEN Gwynett went down to the dining-room he 
found his visitor sitting before the fire in a se- 
verely rigid attitude, and with a solemn expres- 
sion upon his countenance. He rose and bowed with 
much ceremony, and then, at Gwynett’s invitation, took 
his seat again. 

“Monsieur,” said he, “I have first of all to apologize for 
my seeming pertinacity in making myself acquainted 
with your name and address a little while ago at Grand- 
pre. The reason was, that I required the information, and 
thought it might be better to make use of that oppor- 
tunity than to wait about and follow you afterwards — 
which might have looked curious.” 

“Monsieur is, of course, the best judge,” replied Gwy- 
nett. 

“Then, monsieur, you accept my assurance that no in- 
trusion was intended on that occasion. Good, so far. Now, 
monsieur, I have to announce that my object was to be 
able to wait upon you on behalf of my friend M. le chev- 
alier de Bauge.” 

Gwynett bowed, and seated himself to await further en- 
lightenment. 

“I have had the honor,” he said, “of making the ac- 
quaintance of M. le baron de Bauge. But I am not quite 
sure whether I have seen M. le chevalier.” 

“Monsieur, I have to complain, on the part of M. le 
chevalier, that he has seen you much too often.” 
“Explain, M. le capitaine.” 

“Well, as a matter of fact, monsieur, my friend finds 
your constant presence at Grandpre disagreeable to him. 
I am therefore commissioned to ask for an assurance of 
your immediate departure from this neighborhood.” 

Gwynett began to see how the land lay, and felt in- 
wardly rather amused. 


201 


King, by Right Divine 

“Really, monsieur,” he replied, “it appears to me that 
M. le chevalier is a little exacting. Within how many 
miles of Grandpre does he allow strangers to remain, as 
a general rule?” 

“Monsieur, it is not a question of strangers. It is a 
question of yourself. It will be discreet of monsieur not 
to compel me to bring another person’s name into the dis- 
cussion.” 

“I think your discretion is needlessly profound, M. le 
capitaine. So long as it is a matter between us two you 
may surely speak freely. What is M. de Bauge’s griev- 
ance, in plain words ?” 

“In plain words, monsieur, my friend interests himself 
in mademoiselle Thekla Martigny, and consequently ob- 
jects to your forcing your society upon her.” 

Gwynett burst out laughing. 

“The deuce !” he said. “Your chevalier is a modern 
dragon of the Hesperides. Is he as particular with every- 
one as with me?” 

“Monsieur, I assure you the matter is serious.” 

“Possibly. I have no objection. But unfortunately I 
am compelled to be at Grandpre when occasion arises, and 
it is clear I cannot ask mademoiselle Thekla to go away.” 

“Then I am to gather you are not disposed to meet my 
friend’s wishes.” 

“ISTot in the direction he suggests, certainly. At the 
same time, you may assure him from me that he need not 
concern himself in the slightest degree about my proceed- 
ings, and that my presence or absence has nothing to do 
with the matter he has in his mind.” 

The captain shrugged his shoulders. 

“I am afraid, monsieur, that that will hardly satisfy my 
friend.” 

“I am sorry; but we cannot all have our own way in 
this world, M. le capitaine, as I daresay you have discov- 
ered before now.” 

“In this case, as occasionally in others, monsieur, there 
is an obvious alternative.” 

“No doubt. M. de Bauge can let the matter drop, and 
he will find things in exactly the same state as if he had 
not interfered.” 

“On the contrary, monsieur, he asks you, through me, 


202 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

to refer me to some friend, if you happen to have one in 
the neighborhood.” 

“I only think of one, and he may possibly not be avail- 
able. To save time, I would venture to suggest, M. le capi- 
taine, that you say what you have to say to me, and we can 
leave the question of my friend till later. I understand, 
then, that M. de Bauge insists upon a meeting?” 

“Precisely, monsieur.” 

“That simplifies matters. What do you propose about 
details, M. le capitaine?” 

“As to the time and place, monsieur, the earlier and 
nearer the better, and with regard to weapons, my friend 
would prefer you to make some proposal yourself.” 

“I esteem M. de Bauge’s courtesy. What sort of a 
swordsman is he?” 

“The best in this neighborhood, monsieur.” 

“And pistol-shot?” 

“The best I know anywhere, monsieur.” 

“Those are rather favorable circumstances for your 
friend, M. le capitaine. I do not pretend to be much of a 
shot myself. But perhaps pistols would be a little more 
equal for both of us than swords. There is only one little 
difficulty that I see.” 

“What is that, monsieur?” 

“Your friend is rich?” 

“Passably so, monsieur.” 

“And probably unmarried?” 

“That is so.” 

“It is understood that M. de Bauge picks the quarrel, 
and not I?” 

“Certainly.” 

“Very good. I am quite willing to meet M. de Bauge, 
but I do so merely to oblige him. I have not the slight- 
est ill-feeling towards him. On the other hand, M. de 
Bauge probably desires to do me a mischief, eh?” 

The captain drew himself up rather loftily. 

“Monsieur,” he said, “permit me to express a fear that 
you may be somewhat unfamiliar with affairs of honor. 
Your question appears to me a little out of place.” 

“Well, perhaps you are right. Let us put it in another 
way. I do not wish to kill M. de Bauge, and if I do kill 
him, there is no one but himself concerned. On the other 


203 


King, by Right Divine 

hand, I am not so lucky as M. de Bauge, in that I have no 
independent means. Your friend, as you will admit, 
wants to kill me, and if he does kill me, what is to be- 
come of my wife and family ?” 

“Monsieur, it is perfectly impossible for me to go into 
these considerations. It would certainly be more conven- 
ient if you would place me in communication with your 
friend.” 

“Do not say that, M. le capitaine. I think there is no 
reason why we should not come to a perfect understand- 
ing. Allow me to make a few suggestions, and afterwards 
you can criticise them.” 

The captain bowed with rather a patronizing air, and 
remarked, 

“Of course I am in your hands, monsieur.” 

“Very good. Then, M. le capitaine, I beg to propose 
that we fight either with sword or pistol, as M. de Bauge 
may prefer, on the following terms: If M. de Bauge 
chooses the pistol, he must on his part undertake to pay 
my family, if he kills me, the sum of twenty thousand 
livres ” 

“Viable! but ” 

“Dirt cheap, you were going to say — and I agree with 
you. Still, it shows my reasonableness. Well, I, for my 
part, will make matters as comfortable for M. de Bauge 
as I can by aiming straight at him. If I did anything 
else, you see, I might hit him by some accident. On the 
other hand, if M. de Bauge chooses the sword, I will meet 
him with a walking-stick, without suggesting any condi- 
tions whatever.” 

“A walking-stick!” echoed the captain, with his eyes 
like saucers. 

“Yes, M. le capitaine,” replied Gwynett, in an extreme- 
ly confidential tone, “and I will tell you why. You 
must understand that onco or twice I have been very un- 
lucky with the sword. Usually I have been able to pre- 
vent my opponents getting themselves hurt; but when one 
has to do with a clumsy fellow, or a novice, one never 
knows wdiat silly thing he will do before one can stop him. 
I recollect that my hundredth duel, curiously enough, was 
a case in point. Some young fool, who could no more 
fence than fly, in spite of all my care, absolutely jumped 


204 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

on the point of my sword, and was dead in two minutes. 
I can generally manage not to hurt a decent swordsman, 
but I cannot guarantee it with a bungler. What is your 
experience, M. le capitaine ?” 

As the captain could only gaze speechlessly at Gwynett, 
the latter continued, 

“That makes me prefer not to run any risks with your 
friend, who is no doubt a good sort of fellow, and whom I 
would not hurt for the world. As to what you say about 
his own swordsmanship, these provincial reputations arfc 
merely amusing. For myself, there are not three men in 
Europe who can touch me. If it would interest you to see 
me strip to the waist, I will bet you a dozen of champagne 
that you cannot find more than four scars as the result of 
perhaps a couple of hundred meetings. That speaks for 
itself.” 

“Good lord,” gasped the captain, completely crushed by 
this amiable confidence. 

“Thus you see,” continued Gwynett, “that a walking- 
stick will serve me very well indeed, and your friend can 
make himself easy. A pistol is different. Any fool can 
kill somebody with a pistol, even with his eyes shut, and I 
never run risks of that sort without a decent excuse for it.” 

At this moment the landlady entered to ask if dinner 
should be served. The captain jumped up hastily. 

“Do not let me interfere with your arrangements, mon- 
sieur,” said he. “I will confer with my principal and wait 
upon you later.” 

“On the contrary, M. le capitaine, remain here and 
allow me to order a second cover to be laid. There is no 
hurry.” 

The captain, scenting a good dinner afar off, looked 
very much gratified. 

“Monsieur is extremely obliging,” he said. “I accept 
with pleasure.” 

Gwynett nodded to madame THopital, and the land- 
lady went out. 

“Allow me to ask, M. le capitaine, whether it was not 
M. de Bauge^s black mare I saw in the yard?” 

“It was, monsieur.” 

“Is he here?” 

“Somewhere in the post-house, monsieur.” 


205 


King, by Right Divine 

“Then do me the favor to convey to him my most re- 
spectful compliments, and ask him, pending the adjust- 
ment of our little difference, to join us at dinner. There 
will be plenty of time to settle matters afterwards.” 

The captain took up his hat. 

“Monsieur, I will convey to M. de Bauge your very 
courteous invitation. As you say, there is no hurry.” 

The captain went out, and Gwynett smiled to himself. 

“Let us hope,” he thought, “that my little bit of bluff 
will serve its purpose. I am hardly justified in getting 
mixed up with affairs of this sort till the chevalier is off 
my hands. Besides, there is always the chance of some 
accident.” 

Presently there came the sound of voices outside the 
door, and the captain, followed by his principal, entered 
the room. 

“I have the honor to introduce M. le chevalier de Bauge 
to M. de Starhemberg.” 

The newcomer, in whom Gwynett recognized his guide 
to Grandpre on the night of his first visit there, came for- 
ward and bowed with as much grace as his evident rus- 
ticity would permit of. Then he looked at Gwynett, gave 
a little start, and turned round to the captain. 

“This is not the man,” he said abruptly. 

“Not the man !” echoed the captain. “Of course it is 
the man — that is,” he added, with a bow to Gwynett, “if 
monsieur will pardon me.” 

“Monsieur,” remarked de Bauge rather awkwardly, 
“there has been some mistake, for which I hope you will 
accept my apologies. It is the fault of the captain, I 
assure you.” 

“Not in the least,” persisted the captain. 

“Messieurs,” said Gwynett, who began to suspect a seri- 
ous explanation of what had occurred, “if I am the wrong 
person, and if there is no hurry about the right person, 
I presume nothing need prevent our dining together. As 
a matter of fact, I am very hungry.” 

“With great pleasure,” replied de Bauge. “And, in any 
case, I am indebted to the mistake for the honor of mon- 
sieur’s acquaintance.” 

At this point the dinner was served, and Gwynett, to se- 


206 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

cure privacy, told the landlady that the party would wait 
upon themselves. 

“And now, messieurs/'’ he remarked, as spon as they 
were alone, “if I do not intrude upon your private affairs, 
I am a little curious to know how this misunderstanding 
has arisen. I gathered from M. le capitaine that M. le 
Bauge is an admirer of mademoiselle Thekla Martigny, 
who is certainly a wonderfully pretty girl; but that is the 
end of my information.” 

“Monsieur,” explained the captain, “the matter arose 
quite simply out of the fact of your spending the greater 
part of the last three or four days in mademoiselle Thekla’s 
company.” 

“1? Nothing of the sort, M. le capitaine. I have seen 
mademoiselle Thekla three times at Grandpre, it is true, 
but for less than a quarter of an hour altogether.” 

“But excuse me, monsieur, this very morning M. de 
Bauge, after watching you for an hour or more ” 

Gwynett smiled, and de Bauge turned rather red. 

“Monsieur will agree,” he said, “that everything is fair 
in love and war. It is true I was at a considerable dis- 
tance.” 

“Go on, M. le capitaine,” said Gwynett. 

“M. de Bauge, after watching monsieur for an hour or 
more, sent me after you to demand satisfaction. I over- 
took you, as you recollect, on your return to the farm.” 

“As it happens,” replied Gwynett, “I had joined made- 
moiselle Thekla only a couple of minutes before you 
reached us. Probably M. de Bauge never saw me at all.” 

“Then her previous companion must in the meantime 
have left her,” said de Bauge. “That accounts for it. But 
you will recollect, monsieur, that it was certainly you who 
asked me the way to Grandpre the other night.” 

“And,” added the captain, “monsieur will admit it was 
he whom I saw at the gate a couple of days ago.” 

The identity of Thekla’s companion was, of course, ob- 
vious to Gwynett, and he silently loaded the chevalier de 
St. George with execrations for his perverse folly. 

“That is true,” he replied. “I think, however, that I 
am acquainted with the other person whom M. de Bauge 
has seen, and if so, he need trouble himself no further, as 
we are both leaving the district within a few hours,” 


King, by Right Divine 207 

“I accept monsieur’s assurance,” replied de Bauge, “and 
wish him a pleasant journey.” 

The meal passed off without further incident, and the 
three gentlemen were sitting over their wine when a letter 
was handed to Gwynett which had been brought by a spe- 
cial courier from Paris. With an apology to his guests, 
he went off to his room to open the packet. It was from 
the regent, and ran : 

“Dear Chevalier, 

“For their own safety it is imperative that the mes- 
sieurs Macdonald should continue their journey, as at any 
moment I may be compelled to arrest them. It has been 
necessary, on the receipt of reports from admiral Byng, 
to order the disembarkation of the stores on certain ships 
at Havre. Two of the English frigates have since sailed 
from Havre towards the west, possibly to cruise off St. 
Malo. Philippe/’ 

“This will serve very conveniently,” thought Gwynett, 
as he put the letter in his pocket. “If not, I shall be very 
much disposed to arrest the chevalier myself, and smug- 
gle him out of the country on my own account.” 

He packed his valise, and went down to the stables to 
have his horse saddled. Then he ordered a fresh dozen of 
wine to be sent into the dining-room, settled his account 
with the landlady, and returned to his two guests. Both 
had employed the time of his absence in liberal potations, 
and hailed with vinous enthusiasm his request that they 
would accept the basket of wine just brought in and. ex- 
cuse his further attendance. This arrangement being sat- 
isfactorily come to, Gwynett took his departure from the 
“Cerf Dore” and rode off to Grandpre. 

It was dusk when he arrived at the farm. Leading his 
horse round to the yard he met Macdonald, and took him 
aside. 

“M. Macdonald,” he said, “permit me to remark that 
you and M. le chevalier have been bamboozling me. May 
I ask why ?” 

Macdonald shrugged his shoulders. 


2o 8 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“My dear M. de Starhemberg,” he replied drily, "if yon 
imagine it is an easy matter to get M. le chevalier to do 
what jmu and I might call sensible things, yon labor nnder 
a delusion. Personally, I agree with yon in anything you 
care to say — or to leave unsaid.” 

“It appears, then, that he has been wasting the last 
three days philandering after this girl, when every mo- 
ment is of consequence ?” 

“Yes. I have done what I could; but uselessly. If you 
knew the chevalier better, you would quite understand 
that. Do you propose anything yourself ?” 

“I have come to get him away to-night — by the express 
instructions of the regent.” 

“That may count for something. I hope it will. The 
chevalier is indoors; let us see what can be done with 
him.” 

The two went into the house, and found the chevalier 
in earnest conversation with Thekla in the great kitchen 
of the farm. Madame Martigny was apparently engaged 
elsewhere. Gwynett asked for a private interview, and 
the chevalier took him up to his room. 

“Well, M. de Starhemberg,” he said gaily, and with no 
trace of his former languid air, “what is your news ?” 

“Monseigneur, I have just received this letter from 
Paris,” replied Gwynett, handing over the regent’s des- 
patch. 

The chevalier perused it, and nodded affirmatively. 

“I think M. d’Orleans is quite right,” he said. 

“Then you are disposed to adopt his suggestion, mon- 
seigneur, and resume your journey?” 

“Certainly. The sooner the better.” 

“I think, monseigneur, it will be a great point to travel 
both by night and day. You can use post-horses, and 
send your pair of greys back after the first stage.” 

“That is true.” 

“For myself, I suggest that I should keep in advance, 
and take care that the relays are ready for you when you 
come to each post-house. That will also enable me to see 
if the road is clear through to St. Malo.” 

“A very good plan. We can have a meal, and start as 
soon as it is dark.” 


King, by Right Divine 209 

“Then, mon seigneur, with your permission, I will ask 
M. Macdonald to get ready.” 

“If you will be so good, monsieur.” 

Gwynett went downstairs, wondering why on earth Mac- 
donald should have failed in persuading the chevalier to 
take this step earlier. 


210 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XXII. 

IN' WHICH GWYNETT MEETS TWO OLD ACQUAINTANCES. 

O X the third evening after Gwynett’s final visit to 
Grandpre, he arrived on horseback at the town of 
Havre, rode to the shore, and inquired if anything 
was known in the port of an English vessel called the 
Royal Mary. He was told that a certain schooner lying 
in the Seine was the craft in question, and that he would 
probably find her captain at the sailors’ tavern near the 
eastern jetty. 

He accordingly went to the house indicated, called the 
“Dragon Rouge,” and asked at the bar for the captain of 
the Royal Mary. Learning that he was in the parlor, Gwy- 
nett made his way thither, and found the room in the 
solitary occupancy of a short and enormously stout sea- 
faring man, who was sitting in a low chair before the fire, 
with a long pipe in his mouth and a glass of Schnapps on 
the table beside him. This person turned his head as Gwy- 
nett entered, and revealed the rubicund visage of captain 
Christopher Kermode. 

“Why, captain ! is it you ?” asked Gwynett, in consider- 
able surprise, and going up with outstretched hand. 

The captain looked equally astonished. 

“The squire ! well, I’m bio wed !” he ejaculated, pulling 
his forelock and grasping Gwynett’s hand with gingerly 
respect. “And how is your honor’s good health ?” 

“Never better, captain, I thank you. I need not ask 
after yours. But I daresay you have forgotten my name. 
It is Starhemberg. Can you manage to recollect that ?” 

The captain laid his finger against the side of his nose 
with a sagacious air. 

“A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse,” he re- 
plied. “Starhemberg. I’ll remember — and I’ll tell the. 
others. Least said, soonest mended. Did your honor ever 
hear any more of the missing gentleman?” 






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King, by Right Divine 

“Nothing. Nor you, I suppose?” 

“Never a word. The Mermaid hasn’t come back yet; — 
leastways, not when I was last in an English port.” 

“Well, captain, to business. You are skipper of the 
Royal Mary , it appears?” 

“Yes, squire.” 

“How is it that you are not at St. Malo, as arranged ?” 

The captain looked sideways at Gwynett. 

“St. Malo, was it ?” he inquired cautiously. 

“Of course. You may speak freely, for ■” and Gwy- 

nett leaned over to whisper in the captain’s ear. 

“Oh ! then, that’s all right,” said the captain, in a re- 
lieved tone. “Well, if you must know, I’ve papers for the 
schooner, but none for the cargo. We have powder and 
lead and biscuit aboard for the prince. You see, I was to 
have taken the Royal Mary round to St. Malo a fortnight 
back, to wait there for orders.” 

“That was what I understood.” 

“Yes, squire. But between whiles we’ve had the ad- 
miral smelling about. Two of the prince’s ships have been 
overhauled by the governor and the stores taken ashore — 
orders from Paris. The admiral set him at it. He’s 
cruising off the port now with a couple of frigates, and I 
daren’t move. So far, they haven’t suspected the Royal 
Mary , but the prince’s people went away without thinking 
I might want cargo papers. If I sail, and get a shot across 
my bows for me to heave to while the admiral sends a 
boatful of his folks on board, where am I? Can you tell 
me where the prince is, squire, if I may make so bold ?” 

“Waiting at St. Malo. We arrived yesterday. But not 
finding the Royal Mary at the port, as we expected, it was 
decided that I should ride over here and see what was 
wrong.” 

“That’s what’s wrong, squire. A month ago there was 
nobody to ask questions. But admiral Byng is as keen as 
a terrier after rats.” 

“I will see about papers for you. When can you sail ?” 

“As soon as your honor chooses. I can wait here for 
the papers. Will your honor sail with us?” 

“No. You might be delayed by a change of wind, and 
I am wanted back at St. Malo.” 

Gwynett went off to seek an interview with the gov- 


212 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

ernor of the port, to whom he showed his credentials and 
made his request that the Royal Mary should be duly cer- 
tificated in a way to prevent any difficulty with the Eng- 
lish cruisers. The governor hastened to give every assist- 
ance, and French papers from Havre to Dunkerque were 
made out for the schooner, to cover both ship and cargo. 
It appeared that the Royal Mary was already provisioned, 
and could replenish her water supply in an hour. Cap- 
tain Kermode therefore undertook to sail with the ebb- 
tide. These arrangements made, Gwynett, who had been 
nearly twenty-four hours in the saddle on his cross-country 
ride from St. Malo, went to bed to sleep off his fatigue. 

He set off on his return journey rather late the next 
morning, slept at Falaise, and arrived at St. Malo in the 
afternoon of the following day. 

The inn at which the chevalier and Macdonald had 
taken rooms was near the shore of the islet called Rocher 
d’ Aaron, on which St. Malo stands, and was the rendez- 
vous of half a dozen adherents of the royal exile, includ- 
ing his confessor father Innis, M. dTberville, and captain 
Floyd. While Gwynett, having put up his horse, was 
making his way to the inn through the narrow streets of 
old six-story houses, Macdonald entered the bedroom of 
the chevalier. The latter had just awoke, and was asking 
for his breakfast. 

Macdonald waited until the servant had left the room, 
and then whispered, 

“We have managed about the money without any diffi- 
culty, your majesty.” 

“Who helped you ?” asked the chevalier. 

“I took no one but father Innis. The gold is now in 
the four leather bags. Each weighs about a hundred- 
weight, but that is manageable; the chest was not. Luck- 
ily, the louis are all packed in rouleaux, so that they make 
no noise. I filled the chest with stones, in case of acci- 
dents.” 

“Will the abbe Gaultier know?” 

“Certainly not — unless he goes to explore the chest. 
But the chest and seat-box and coach-house are all locked. 
I see no reason for making him any wiser till we are quite 
out of reach of the cruisers — it is possible for even safe 
people to talk in their sleep.” 


King, by Right Divine 213 

“The abbe lias not returned yet?” 

“No. And' I should not lament if he never returned 
at all.” 

“Pooh! my dear Macdonald, I want my breakfast, and 
not a sermon.” 

“In any case, I advise your majesty to keep M. de Star- 
hemberg in the dark about the affair.” 

“What the plague has he to do with it?” 

Macdonald shrugged his shoulders, and left the room 
with no particular exhibition of ceremony. On the stairs 
he met Gwynett. 

“Ah ! M. de Starhemberg ! You have not let the grass 
grow under your feet. Do you wish to see the chevalier ?” 

“If he is at liberty.” 

“Come in, M. de Starhemberg,” called out the chev- 
alier, who had overhead the colloquy. “What is your 
news ?” 

Gwynett narrated the circumstances of his mission, and 
asked if the Royal Mary had yet been reported at St. 

Malo. 

“Not so far, monsieur,” replied Macdonald. 

“She has had a fair wind, and cannot be far off. I will 
inquire about her, if your highness has no other com- 
mands for me.” 

At this moment a note w r as brought up for Macdonald, 
which he read out. It was from father Innis, saying that 
the brig had just cast anchor in the harbor, and sent a 
boat ashore to report its arrival. 

“That settles matters,” said Gw}mett. “I presume your 
highness is quite ready to start? If admiral Byng’s two 
vessels are not off the port already, they may come at any 
vinoment.” 

“But he would not venture to search a ship carrying the 
papers you secured for captain Kermode?” asked the 
chevalier. 

“No. But if he hears or finds anything suspicious, 
through any spy or otherwise, he will keep the schooner in 
sight to see what becomes of her. And I would not un- 
dertake to say what he would do if the Royal Mary en- 
tered British waters in his cbmpany.” 

The chevalier shuffled his feet about rather impatiently. 

“We are waiting for one of our suite,” he replied, in a 


214 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

tone obviously intended to terminate the interview, “As 
soon as he arrives, our party will be complete, and there 
will be nothing to prevent our setting sail at once.” 

“Very good, monseigneur. I will await your summons, 
and then do myself the honor of seeing you safe on 
board.” 

Gwynett bowed and retired. Macdonald followed him, 
and took him aside. 

“M. de Starhemberg,” he said, with a keen look, “you 
wish well to the chevalier ?” 

“Is that in doubt, M. Macdonald?” 

“Well, no. But may I speak to you in strict confi- 
dence ?” 

“Assuredly.” 

“Then the best service you can render the chevalier is 
to invent an approach of admiral Byng, and get his high- 
ness off at once, without waiting for anybody.” 

“Ah?” 

Macdonald nodded, shook hands, and returned to the 
chevalier’s room. 

Gwynett went downstairs, rather wondering if the sug- 
gestion just made was to be taken seriously. On the land- 
ing, which was very dark and narrow, he was passed by a 
man coming upstairs, whose features were indistinguish- 
able in the gloom. But the newcomer’s voice, as he apol- 
ogized for squeezing past Gwynett struck the latter with 
some faint echo of familiarity. He was trying to associate 
the tones with some definite memory, when, on emerging 
from the doorway into the street, he stepped almost into 
the arms of a passer-by. This person was an elderly gen- 
tleman, dressed severely in black, with large gold spec- 
tacles, and the air of a medical man. Gwynett uttered an 
exclamation of surprise. 

“Doctor Vidal, if I mistake not,” he said, holding out 
his hand. 

“At monsieur’s service,” replied the other, looking up. 

“But have I the honor ? Ah ! certainly monsieur’s 

face is familiar to me. But ” 

“M. le docteur, permit me to recall to your memory that 
I was a patient of yours for a few days at Calais, three or 
four years ago, at the house of M. le gouverneur.” 

“ Parbleu ! I recollect. And you slept enormously — 


215 


King, by Right Divine 

was it not so? We took you off a ship newly arrived — the 
Fleur de Lys. Yes. But I am ashamed to say your name 
escapes me.” 

“Starhemberg, M. le docteur.” 

“Starhemberg? I had absolutely forgotten it. But I 
will recollect it for the future.” 

“And are you still living at Calais, monsieur ?” 

“No. I have been at St. Malo a twelvemonth; my fam- 
ily belong to the place, and I have recently inherited a 
small patrimony here. I am just going for a turn on the 
road to Alengon; may I ask the favor of your company?” 

“With great pleasure.” 

The two turned their steps in the direction of Le Sillon 
(the causeway conecting Bocher d’ Aaron with the main- 
land), and the doctor continued, 

“Since I saw you, monsieur, I have had an interesting 
subject of study in hand, which was partly the cause of 
my leaving Calais.” 

“What is that, monsieur ?” 

“Well, as you know, Calais is a sea-port, and therefore 
we often had drowning fatalities there. I made several 
autopsies of such cases in the course of my practice, and 
was struck by the fact that I seldom, if ever, found much 
water in the lungs. That is contrary to all belief and tra- 
dition, you observe. Nevertheless, the fact remains.” 

“But,” objected Gwynett, who shared the usual igno- 
rance of the period on the subject, “I thought everyone 
swallowed water in getting drowned.” 

“Swallow?” echoed the doctor, with professional scorn. 
“My good sir, I am talking of the lungs, not the stomach. 
You may swallow a caskful, in the water or out of it — 
what does that mattes ?” 

“True. I should perhaps have said breathed water, in- 
stead of air.” 

“Ah !” cried the doctor, “that is the point. If one 
breathes water in drowning, it ought to be found in the 
lungs, and it is not — at least, not in any quantity.” 

“I do not quite understand that.” 

“Nor did I. And I ask myself, why not? And if not, 
why does drowning kill ? And it occurred to me that what 
actually happens is this. When the water which is sucked 
into the mouth touches the glottis — inside there, you 


2l6 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


know ” 

pipe. 

“Well ?” 


and the doctor touched his companion’s wind- 


“When the water, in the course of being sucked towards 
the windpipe, touches the glottis, it causes it to close 
spasmodically, so that nothing can enter — neither water, 
nor air, nor anything else. Then you suffocate.” 

“That is very interesting, M. le docteur. But it seems 
to me one gets drowned all the same.” 

“Don’t be in a hurry. Take your drowned man out of 
the water, say a few minutes after he sinks. If his lungs 
are filled with water, one cannot remove it, and therefore 
one cannot expect him to begin breathing again ; but if his 
lungs are free, there is nothing the matter with him.” 

“Only that he is dead.” 

“How can a man be dead when there is nothing the 
matter with him? Why does he not begin to breathe 
again ?” 

“I suppose he has lost the habit.” 

“Rem acu tetigisti. That is it, my young friend. What 
next?” 


“Next?” 

The doctor snapped his fingers triumphantly as they 
walked along. 

“My dear M. de Starhemberg, listen ! One day at Ca- 
lais, as I was on the beach thinking over these things, a 
young fellow was drowned under my very eyes. They 
took him out five minutes afterwards. I followed the body 
to the house, sent for my assistant and a small bellows, 
and got the corpse stripped and put on to a bed. Then I 
shut the door on the widow and family, and set to work 
with my assistant.” 

“How, may I ask ?” 

“Why, seeing that the man had, as you say, lost the 
habit of breathing, we taught him to resume the habit. 
We blew up his lungs fifteen or twenty times a minute, and 
pressed his chest after each inflation. It seems to take 
time to resume an abandoned habit, and we worked for 
an hour uselessly. Then the corpse opened its eyes. We 
had done the trick.” 

“The man actually came to life again?” 

“That was it/* 


21 7 


King, by Right Divine 

“Wonderful ! Have they put up your statue at Calais ?” 

“Well, not exactly. It appeared that while we were up- 
stairs, the widow had made arrangements to marry some- 
one else, an intimate friend of the deceased. Naturally, 
when the corpse walked -downstairs, he found himself a 
good deal de trop. The wife and her new fiance at once 
spread abroad the explanation that I was a magician in 
league with the devil. My assistant wanted to get hold of 
my practice, and gave a sulphurous account of my method, 
which, according to him, was chiefly a series of incanta- 
tions. The resuscitated husband did nothing but curse 
me for disturbing his belief in his wife’s fidelity, and 
drank himself to death in a month. I did not care to in- 
terfere on the occasion of his second decease, as you may 
imagine. In fact, the whole affair got me into such bad 
odor that I was glad to leave the place and come here. 
Thus I have the good fortune to meet you to-day.” 

“It is very remarkable. According to what you say, one 
could almost be drowned on dry land.” 

“My dear sir,” cried Vidal, with enthusiasm, “I’ll en- 
gage to drown you in your bed, any time you like, and re- 
suscitate you afterwards. It is as simple as possible. But 
here is someone who seems to know you.” 

The doctor and Gwynett had by this time just crossed 
Le Sillon. A man in riding costume was walking rapidly 
towards the causeway, and advanced to meet them. It was 
M. de Bauge, looking very red and angry. He came 
straight up to Gwynett and saluted. 

“Monsieur,” he said, “are your two friends in the town 
yonder ?” 

“The messieurs Macdonald?” 

“Yes — if it was they who were at Grandpre. I have a 
question to put to them, and if not to them, to you. I have 
ridden from Grandpre to ask it, and I have left my horse 
dead a quarter of a mile behind me. So you will see, 
monsieur, I expect to be answered.” 

“What is your question, monsieur?” 

“I wish to know what you or your friends have done 
with mademoiselle Thekla Martigny ?” 

“With mademoiselle Thekla Martigny?” 

“Yes, monsieur — whom I have traced to within a mile 
of this place, and who is now, I presume, in St. Malo. I 
shall be glad to have your answer, monsieur.” 


2 I 8 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

HOW THE ABBE GAULTIER WAS VERY MUCH DISSATISFIED. 

M DE BAUGE’S news enlightened Gwynett upon 
several points. 

“Now I understand,” he said to himself, “why 
the chevalier was quite ready to leave Grandpre. Evident- 
ly he had just made an arangement with mademoiselle 
Thekla for her to follow him here. Also, probably, it is 
for her arrival that we are all waiting. And it is for this 
sort of fellow that two kingdoms are to be set by the ears !” 
He turned to Dr. Vidal, and said, 

“M. le docteur, may I ask you to excuse me, and to allow 
me to have some conversation with this gentleman on my 
way back to St. Malo ?” 

“Assuredly, monsieur. I am very pleased to have re- 
newed our acquaintance. If you can call upon me before 
you leave, anyone will show you my house.” 

The doctor saluted the two gentlemen, and proceeded on 
his walk, while Gwynett, turning to de Bauge, said, 
“Monsieur, do me the favor to accompany me to the town 
and explain matters. What you tell me is quite unex- 
pected. I know nothing about it.” 

De Bauge accepted Gwynett’s disclaimer without demur, 
and replied, 

“In that case, monsieur, it must be one of your two 
friends who is at the bottom of the affair. Perhaps you 
can tell me whether or not they are at St, Malo ?” 

“As it happens, they are here. I shall be glad to hear 
details of what has occurred.” 

“Well, monsieur, the third dav after you left our neigh- 
borhood ” 

“In company with mv friends, please observe, M. de 
Bauge — and leaving mademoiselle at home.” 

“Certainly, for I saw her the next day, and the day after. 


219 


King, by Right Divine 

Each day I had the idea that things were not as they had 
been. On the Thursday evening — you left on the Mon- 
day — I went to Grandpre again, and failed to find her. 
No one had seen her since middle day. She did not come 
home at all that evening or night, and in the morning I 
called upon madame Martigny, who, by the way, looks 
upon me rather as an enemy •” 

“Perhaps naturally, M. de Bauge. She appears to have 
a regard for the honor of her family.” 

“All the same, she does me injustice. She accused me 
of decoying Thekla away. I declared, on the contrary, that 
it was one of her two lodgers. Just then some of the farm 
laborers came in to say that Thekla had been seen entering 
a post-chaise at Tillieres, between Nonancourt and Ver- 
neuil, in company with a man who was certainly neither 
of the messieurs Macdonald. I at once set out in pursuit, 
and came upon the track of the chaise at Alengon. From 
there, during Friday and to-day, I have followed it with- 
out stopping. But my horse broke down just before I met 
you, and I had to have him killed at the blacksmith^ close 
by. Now what does all this mean, monsieur?” 

“As to mademoiselle Thekla^s companion, monsieur, I 
am quite in the dark. But as it seems clear that she has 
come to St. Malo, I think you had better leave the matter 
in my hands for a short time.” 

“You guess where she is?” 

“I guess where she may be later on.” 

“And if you find her, you will confide her to me, mon- 
sieur ?” 

“The devil ! no. Why should I ?” 

De Bauge turned very red. 

“In order, monsieur,” he replied, “that I may take her 
back to her mother, who is quite heart-broken over the 
affair.” 

“A fine way of preserving mademoislle Thekla’s reputa- 
tion, truly, for her to return in your company. Do people 
in these parts accept the wolf in the role of shepherd as 
easily as all that?” 

“Monsieur, you are wrong. I would willingly have mar- 
ried Thekla.” 

“Accept my apologies. But if so, why madame Mar- 
tigny’s hostility?” 


220 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

De Bauge looked a little disconcerted. 

“Well,” he replied, “I confess that my first intentions 
were a little different, and madame Marti gny may have 
suspected the fact. But I assure you 1 had altogether 
changed my mind, especially after a quarrel with my 
father on the subject — until this infernal business, at all 
events. Even now, though, I would marry her if she were 
willing. The affair has quite upset me, I give you my 
word.” 

“'Well, I will see what can be done. There is a little 
tavern over there — the ‘Trois Matelots’ — where you can 
wait till I send you news.” 

De Bauge assented very willingly to this, and Gwynett 
left him to make his way to M. de St. George’s lodgings. 
Here he found that the chevalier and all his friends had 
gone down to the harbor. 

It was now getting dusk. The wind had fallen, and one 
or two scattered lights from craft in the harbor glittered on 
the smooth swell of the inflowing tide. Gwynett found a 
party of the Stuart adherents at the edge of the water, 
stowing away baggage and parcels in two or three small 
boats which were to convey them to the Royal Mary. Mac- 
donald was supervising the embarkation, and in two of the 
sailors, Gwynett recognized Luke and Mark Kermode. 
But the latter, evidently instructed by their half-brother 
the captain, only pulled their forelocks discreetly in re- 
sponse to Gwynett’s nod. He went up to Macdonald, and 
drew him aside. 

“Where is the chevalier, M. Macdonald?” he asked. 

“He went on board by the last trip of one of these 
wherries, M. de Starhemberg.” 

“And mademoiselle Thekla with him?” 

Macdonald looked sharply at Gwynett, and shrugged his 
shoulders. 

“Ho,” he replied. “She had been rowed on board be- 
fore.” 

“Monsieur,” said Gwynett, “do you happen to know that 
in asking madame Martigny for lodgings at Grandpre, I 
took upon myself to assure her that she would be receiving 
honorable people ?” 

Macdonald pressed his lips together. 

“M. de Starhemberg,” he replied, “you had better dis- 


221 


King, by Right Divine 

cuss that subject with the chevalier. You must surely 
know that when my hands are tied, my mouth is shut at 
the same time.” 

“Very good, monsieur. I will go to the chevalier at 
once. It may perhaps be convenient for you to know that 
I shall not permit this piece of rascality to be carried out, 
and that if any difficulty should arise, I am in a position 
to enforce my wishes.” 

“So far from having any objection, monsieur, I suggest 
that you should exert all your authority, whatever that may 
be worth.” 

“My authority, M. Macdonald, extends to hanging the 
chevalier at the yard-arm of the Royal Mary " 

Macdonald's face lighted up. 

“If that is so, monsieur,” he said eagerly, “for heaven's 
sake bring the girl away. It is this sort of thing that 
damns us wherever we turn. William of Orange did not 
rob the chevalier's father of his crown by fooling with 
farm wenches on his way to Torbay.” 

Gwynett smiled grimly. 

“M. Macdonald, it seems to me that you have the post of 
dry-nurse to an ass — all the worse for you, and very little 
better for the ass. Which of these boats can you lend me ? 
If your people are busy, I can row myself out to the 
schooner.” 

“If you can, please do so, as I want to get this heap of 
baggage and stores cleared as soon as possible.” 

He pointed to an empty boat lying at the water's edge 
just beyond the two which the rest of the party were load- 
ing, and said, 

“That one will serve you. It belongs to the schooner. 
The others we are only hiring.” 

“One question, monsieur. Did the chevalier reveal his 
identity to the girl at Grandpre?” 

“I believe so.” 

Gwynett went down to the boat, which was painted white, 
with lockers at the bow and stern. He pushed it into the 
water, placed the sculls in the row-locks, and pulled off 
through the gathering dusk to the Royal Mary. 

Before he was half-way to the schooner, a man in a cloak 
lounged down to the group on the beach. He looked 
about, kicked some of the pebbles into the water, and then 


222 Gwynett of Thornhaugh , 

asked Macdonald, in a sulky tone, how long his men would 
be before they started. It was the abbe Gaultier. 

“In less than ten minutes, M. l’abbe, if your patience 
will hold out so long.” 

“Patience? Diable! I see very little reward for acting 
the part of Job nowadays. Does it often happen in your 
experience, M. Macdonald, that one gets thanked for one’s 
pains ?” 

“Eh ! what gnat has bitten you, M. l’abbe ?” asked Mac- 
donald, between whom and the abbe there was evidently no 
love lost. 

“M. Macdonald, it is all very well for M. le chevalier 
and you, his followers, to be put to inconvenience now and 
again. You are all on the road to gain something, or you 
think so, which comes to the same thing. But hang me if 
I appreciate being in the saddle or jolted in a chaise for 
four mortal days and nights, only to be grumbled at for not 
arriving sooner. I am perfectly knocked up.” 

“Nevertheless, M. l’abbe, it seemed to me that your 
fatigue did not prevent you finishing your journey on very 
good terms with mademoiselle Martigny.” 

“Pooh ! one must always worship the rising sun. The 
girl is certainly a marvel of prettiness, and may keep in 
with the chevalier for some little time. Therefore, it is my 
business to keep in with her, and I do not deny that she 
facilitated the task most amiably. I flatter myself she 
may help to make our voyage a pleasant one, at all events. 
I did not neglect, by the way, to put in a good word for 
you.” 

“You are very kind. But I am afraid you have rather 
wasted your diplomacy. It appears she is not to go with 
us.” 

“Not go with us ! But she is on board.” 

“She will be on shore again before long. Our escort 
from Nonancourt, whom I think you have not seen — M. de 
Starhemberg — objects to the chevalier enticing her awav 
from home.” 

“Objects ! Who the devil is M. de Starhemberg to ob- 
ject ? and what if he does ?” 

“I fancy he will do just as he chooses, and he chooses ho 
take mademoiselle Thekla home again. I am sorry if that 


223 


King-, by R'ght Divine 

upsets any plans of yours. He is gone to the schooner now 
for the purpose of rowing the young lady back to shore.” 

“And do you mean to say the chevalier will consent ?” 

“I hardly suppose he will be consulted. M. de Starhem- 
berg seems rather an obstinate kind of man, and I am 
afraid even your intervention would not help matters.” 

“But this is incredible insolence, M. Macdonald.” 

“You think so?” 

“Yes. And I am in the mood to chastise it.” 

“Indeed? how?” 

“By waiting for your M. de Starhemberg, and asking a 
little explanation from him.” 

Macdonald looked at the abbe for a second or two, and 
then, putting his hand on the other’s arm, said, 

“M. l’abbe, I think you will admit I do not often talk at 
random.” 

“On the contrarjq monsieur.” 

“Well, then, listen. You will do well to leave M. de 
Starhemberg alone. He is here with absolute powers from 
the regent, and a word from him will not only stop our 
expedition, but consign us all to the Bastille as well. So 
far, he has done us most valuable service, and I must re- 
quest that you do not jeopardize matters by offering him 
any provocation.” 

“But, diable! " 

“I go further, M. l’abbe — if need be, in the name of M. 
le chevalier I should absolutely forbid it.” 

“Forbid ! That is a word I do not like, M. Macdonald.” 

“I hope there will be no occasion to use it; in fact, I 
appeal to your good sense to give no occasion. Let the 
matter drop, M. l’abbe. Go on board in that boat, which is 
just ready to push off. In half an hour we shall set sail, 
and these little fooleries will be part of the past. We have 
serious work before us, and trifling is unworthy of any 
of us.” 

The abbe was overborne, in spite of himself, by Macdon- 
ald’s firmness, and acquiesced sullenly in the advice ten- 
dered. He therefore entered the wherry, which was manned 
by the two Kermode brothers, and rowed off to the Royal 
Mary. 

When the wherry reached the schooner, the white-painted 
boat which Gwynett had used was found fastened to the 


224 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

ladder. The abbe looked at it, and was struck by a sudden 
idea. 

“Is that the boat in which M. de Starhemberg rowed 
here?” he asked of Mark Kermode. 

“Yes, your honor. He is going back in it, Mr. Mac- 
donald said.” 

“I daresay he won’t mind taking me with him,” said the 
abbe. “It just occurs to me I have forgotten something at 
my lodgings. I need not trouble any of you, my good fel- 
lows, as I see you are busy. Get on with your work, and I 
will wait for M. de Starhemberg.” 

He stepped out of the wherry, and seated himself in the 
stern of the white boat, while the two Kermodes unloaded 
the wherry into the schooner, and finally went up the 
ladder and disappeared. In the meantime, the abbe had 
lifted the stern-sheet grating, or loose flooring-board, 
searched about for something, and, after some seconds, 
seemed to find what he wanted. Then he felt in his pockets 
and drew out his pocketknife and a strong piece of whip- 
cord. 

“Lucky I had the string,” he said to himself. “It is 
better not to have to ask the sailors for anything.” 

He occupied himself for a few minutes in the stern of 
the boat, looking up now and then to see if he was ob- 
served, and finally placed the oars in a certain position 
rather carefully. Then he stepped from the boat on to the 
ladder, and began to mount up towards the deck of the 
schooner. 


King, by Right Divine 


225 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

HOW THE ABBE GAULTIER PUT MATTERS STRAIGHT. 

I N the meantime Gwynett, as soon as he arrived on board 
the Royal Mary , had asked for the chevalier de St. 
George, and was told by captain Kermode that he was 
in the cabin. But while the captain was speaking the 
cabin-door opened, and the chevalier appeared in the door- 
way. He gave a little start on seeing Gwynett, and after 
a moment's hesitation said uneasily, 

“Ah ! M. de Starhemberg, you are good enough to come 
and see us off ?” 

“I have come for a few minutes’ interview with you, 
monseigneur,” replied Gwyftett. 

“Perhaps you had better come into the cabin, monsieur,” 
replied the chevalier, turning back. 

Gwynett followed into the cabin, which was a good deal 
encumbered with luggage, and shut the door after him. A 
lighted lamp hung from the ceiling, and, thanks to its 
light, Gwynett, looking at the chevalier, formed the opin- 
ion that he had been drinking freely. A couple of bottles 
of wine and a wine-glass were upon the table. 

“And what have you to say to me, monsieur ?” asked the 
chevalier, sitting down. 

“Monseigneur, it may interest you to know that when I 
went on your behalf to Grandpre, madame Martigny, who 
appears to me to be a very worthy woman, raised ob- 
jections on the ground that she had a young daughter, and 
that previous experience had determined her not to let 
lodgings to gentlemen from Paris or elsewhere. I assured 
her that in this case she might dismiss any apprehension 
from her mind.” 

“Well, monsieur?” asked the chevalier, fidgeting a little 
on his chair. 

“Was I in error, monseigneur, in giving her that assur- 
ance ?” 


226 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“I — I realty know nothing about the matter, monsieur.” 

“I am glad to hear that, monseigneur. Then, if made- 
moiselle Thekla has been enticed away from Grandpre, 
and brought on board the Royal Mary , it is without your 
highness’s knowledge or sanction ?” 

“Dame!” broke out the chevalier angrily, "I am being 
catechised, it seems.” 

“It is a very simple question that I ask, monseigneur, 
and I feel sure you will not object to reply.” 

“But I do object. I admit that you have laid me under 
great obligations, monseiur, but you are now exceeding 
your functions. If that is all you have to say, I will wish 
you good evening.” 

“Monseigneur, as I gather from your refusal that made- 
moiselle Thekla is here, I request your highness to permit 
me to take her back to the shore and restore her to her 
sorrowing parent.” 

The chevalier turned very red, and replied doggedly, 

“Monsieur, I decline to discuss the subject. Your audi- 
ence is over. Be good enough to leave me.” 

“Monseigneur, I shall regret to have to act contrary to 
your wishes. Allow me at least to see mademoiselle Thekla, 
and invite her own decision.” 

“It is out of the question, monsieur.” 

“I press the request, monseigneur.” 

“Do you presume to oppose me, monsieur ?” 

“Monseigneur, I shall perform my obvious duty, and I 
hope with your concurrence. Do me the favor to summon 
mademoiselle Thekla, and I ask nothing more of your high- 
ness.” 

“I refuse, monsieur.” 

“Consider, monseigneur, that your refusal will relieve 
me from a certain obligaton hitherto incumbent upon me.” " 

“What is that, monsieur?” 

“That of acting as servant, instead of master, mon- 
seigneur.” 

“Is this a threat, monsieur?” 

“Call it a warning, monseigneur. I only venture to re- 
mind your highness that if monseigneur le regent invested 
me with somewhat extensive powers, it was with the inten- 
tion of their being used upon occasion and according to my 
own judgment. Madame Martigny is a worthy subject of 







227 


King, by Right Divine 

his majesty the king of France, and her household is en- 
titled to his protection. I represent his majesty, and I am 
here to see that she is not wronged. I trust your highness 
will not persist in wronging her, and thereby compel me 
to resort to force.” 

“To force, monsieur?” 

At this moment the door of one of the side-cabins opened, 
and Thekla came out. A bright flush was on her face, and 
her eyes sparkled with an angry gleam. 

“I have heard what monsieur has been demanding,” she 
said, “and I come to tell him that his errand is needless.” 

Gwynett bowed coldly. 

“Mademoiselle,” he said, “madame Martigny will very 
properly hold me responsible for what becomes of you. In 
order that I may know what to say to her, perhaps you will 
be good enough to acquaint me with your intended ar- 
rangements. Does monseigneur le chevalier de St. George 
propose to marry you?” 

“Certainly, monsieur,” replied Thekla, with a little toss 
of her head. 

“Where?” 

“In Scotland.” 

“Why?” 

The girl turned crimson. 

“You insult me, monsieur.” 

“Not at all, mademoiselle. By marrying you here, he 
might possibly save some rag of reputation for you. In 
Scotland it will be ridiculous. Apart from that, he does 
not intend to do anything of the sort.” 

“Monsieur !” cried the chevalier, “you ” 

Gwynett flashed round upon the chevalier, with his 
finger outstretched to the little golden crucifix which hung 
from a ribbon round the other’s neck. 

“Swear upon the crucifix, monseigneur, that when you 
arrive in Scotland to claim the throne of your fathers, you 
will marry this farmer’s daughter.” 

The chevalier turned pale, and stammered a disclaimer. 

“I only meant if circumstances permit, monsieur. In 
my position ” 

Gwynett stopped him with a wave of the hand, and 
turned to Thekla. 

“You hear that, mademoiselle. It seems to me that any 


228 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

one with the intelligence of a rabbit ought to understand 
it. Do you understand it?” 

The girl's face fell, and she began to tremble. 

“Monseigneur gave me his promise,” she said, with an 
effort at firmness. The chevalier looked away from her. 

Gwynett began to think it was time to bring the scene 
to an end. 

“Mademoiselle,” he said, in cutting tones, “let us under- 
stand one another. If you are merely a strumpet, or intend 
to become one, well and good. But in that case I beg to 
assure you that you will find Scotland a very uncomfortable 
place for your avocation, especially after M. le chevalier 
has got tired of you, and handed you over to his troopers — 
as he intends to do.” 

The chevalier, who was notoriously the most lachrymose 
of his family, had by this time lost all his vinous courage, 
and was beginning to whimper. 

“Monsieur,” he snivelled, “you fail in respect to your 
prince.” 

“On the contrary, monseigneur,” retorted Gwynett, “it 
is only the exaggerated respect I entertain for your high- 
ness's person that prevents me taking you by the scruff of 
the neck and flinging you into the sea.” 

“You use very violent language, monsieur,” stammered 
the chevalier, retreating towards his sleeping-berth, and 
wiping his eyes. 

“Mademoiselle,” resumed Gwynett, “if you happen, by 
any chance, to desire to retain your self-respect, you will 
leave this ship at once. It may not be altogether pleasant, 
but that is neither here nor there. Possibly we can arrange, 
when we return to Grandpre, to put matters on a better 
footing. The question now is, will you come back with me 
of your own accord, or must I remove you by force ?” 

The girl looked up at Gwynett with a changed expres- 
sion, and turned to face the chevalier. The latter made no 
sign, and Thekla’s lip curled. Then she said abruptly, 

“I thank you, monsieur. I will go with you.” 

“Have you anything to get ready ?” 

“Only a little parcel.” 

“Fetch it. I will wait for you.” 

Thekla went into her cabin, and the chevalier, after 
blowing his nose, took up one of the wine-bottles. Finding 


229 


King, by Right Divine 

it empty, he addressed himself to the other, poured out a 
glass with a shaking hand, and drank it off. Gwynett held 
his peace, and looked out of the stern windows. 

Presently Thekla appeared in her hat and cloak. She 
cast a contemptuous glance at the chevalier, and said, 

“ Adieu, monseigneur. I am ready, M. de Starhemberg.” 

Gwynett held open the cabin door for Thekla, bowed an 
adieu to the chevalier, and followed his companion on to 
the main deck. 

It was now dark. The moon had risen, and a slight mist 
began to creep over the surface of the sea. Captain Ker- 
mode was on deck, and came forward towards the gang- 
way-port as Gwynett emerged from the cabin. 

“Good night, squire,” said he. “Shall I lend you a man 
to row?” 

“There is no occasion, captain, thank you. Has M. Mac- 
donald come on board yet ?” 

“Ho, squire. He will be on shore till the last. You will 
pass the other wherry, I expect. Mr. Macdonald will come 
aboard in your boat.” 

Gwynett shook hands with the captain, and turned to- 
wards the gangway-port to descend the ladder, looking to- 
wards the harbor light as he did so. The risen moon was 
opposite him, and its reflection made a brilliant band of 
silver on the sea from the shore to the ship’s side. 

Just at this moment a man’s head and shoulders, sil- 
houetted in black against the glittering wavelets, rose sud- 
denly into view at the top of the ladder. The newcomer 
lifted his head to see who was the person standing in the 
gangway-port. Then he started violently, uttered a gasp- 
ing cry of amazement and terror, and fell backwards off 
the ladder into the wherry below. 

Kermode was leaning against the bulwark close at hand, 
and looked over. 

“Hallo!” he remarked, “that’s one of our passengers. 
Looks as if he were stunned. Here, Luke and Mark !” he 
called to his half-brothers, “bear a hand.” 

He descended the ladder into the empty wherry, followed 
by the two sailors, and turned over the senseless form of 
the abbe Gaultier, whose face was deluged with blood from 
a cut on the forehead. 


230 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Let’s get him aboard/* said captain Kermode. “May- 
hap some of his ribs are broken/* 

With some little difficulty the three Kermodes lifted the 
abbe, still unconscious, up to the deck, and carried him 
into the cabin to have his injuries seen to. Gwynett of- 
fered his services in the matter, but captain Kermode de- 
clined them. 

“Much obliged, squire,** he said, “but time’s getting on, 
and unless Mr. Macdonald has your boat, we shall lose the 
ebb waiting for him. The gentleman’s only stunned.” 

Gwynett nodded assent, and helped Thekla from the 
wherry into the stern seat of the white boat, which lay 
outside. 

“Do you know that gentleman, monsieur ?” she asked, as 
she sat down. 

“Not at all, mademoiselle,” replied Gwnett, who had 
seen nothing of the abbe’s face ; “do you ?** 

But Thekla did not answer, and Gwynett, after unfasten- 
ing the painter, took his seat to row. As he shipped the 
oars in the row-locks he felt a smart tug from one of them, 
and noticed a piece of twine dangling from the handle. 

He pulled away towards the shore rather vigorously, as 
the mist was beginning to thicken, and the town lights 
were already lost to sight. The moon helped to direct his 
course, but before he had rowed a couple of hundred yards 
this had almost disappeared. A few minutes later an ex- 
clamation from Thekla was followed by the cry, 

“My feet are in the water, monsieur !** 

Gwynett looked down. The boat was filling, and the 
water was already over the stern-sheet grating. He in- 
stantly unshipped the oars, pushed the grating under his 
seat, and felt about under the water. 

“The plug is gone,” he said hurriedly. “Have you a 
handkerchief? I gave mine to the captain for that pas- 
senger.” 

Thekla passed him a piece of fabric which was perfectly 
useless for the purpose, and Gwynett then bethought him of 
his cravat. He was tearing it from round his neck when 
Thekla, thoroughly frightened, stood up and began to 
scream. The boat lurched violently, and Gwynett was 
flung against the side. 


King, by Right Divine 231 

“For heaven’s sake, mademoiselle/’ he cried, “sit down 
and keep still l” 

He knelt again in the water, and was feeling for the 
plughole with one hand while he held his cravat in the 
other, when Thekla’s frantic wringing of her hands made 
the boat keel over again. This time the gunwale went 
under water, and before Gwynett could fling himself to the 
other side to restore the balance, the boat sank without a 
moment’s warning. 

Thekla fell forward over Gwynett with a shriek that 
could be heard all over the harbor, and the pair disappeared 
under the waves. By exerting his utmost strength, 
Gwynett managed to free himself from the strangling grip 
of his terrified companion, and rose to the surface, holding 
her at arms’ length while he trod the water. 

Two or three hails came across the mist-covered sea, and 
the sound of oars in the row-locks could be heard. As 
soon as he could spare his breath, Gwynett shouted to di- 
rect the course of the rescuers, and in the meantime tried 
to reach the stern-sheet grating which was floating near. 
The approaching boat, which was the second wherry on its 
way to the Royal Mary , came up rapidly and was upon 
him almost before he could cry out a warning. Its im- 
petus carried it a little too far, and the steersman was only 
able, in passing, to seize the now unconscious Thekla by 
the arm. As he did so he called to the stroke to back 
water. In his excitement the man flung his oar back- 
wards just over Gwynett’s head. It fell upon him with the 
force of a sledge-hammer, stunning him instantly, and 
he sank like a stone. 

When the abbe Gaultier was carried into the cabin of 
the Royal Mary, his face was washed and it was found that 
there was no apparent injury except the cut on the fore- 
head, which was plastered up without delay. A minute or 
two later the abbe came to himself, and asked for brandy. 
This was promptly forthcoming, and the abbe swallowed 
a stiff bumper. This revived him considerably, although 
he seemed to be much shaken both in body and mind. 

“How did this accident happen, abbe ?” asked the cheva- 
lier rather curiously. 

“ Diable !” muttered the abbe, “I hardly know. I was at 


232 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

the top of the ladder, and lost my hold. In falling my 
head caught the gunwale of the wherry, and that is all I 
recollect. Give me some more brandy.” 

He swallowed half a tumblerful, and looked up fur- 
tively at Kermode, who stood by the table. 

“By the way, captain,” he asked, “was anyone on deck 
by the gangway-port when I fell ?” 

“I was close by, your honor. So was M. de Starhem- 
berg. But not near enough to catch you.” 

“No one else?” 

“No, your honor.” 

Gaultier looked a little puzzled, and his gaze wandered 
vaguely round the cabin. 

“Evidently it was my fancy,” he said to himself. “And 
yet ” 

He poured out some more brandy, and said to the 
chevalier, 

“Monseigneur, ± have some matters to speak to you 
about in private.” 

At a sign from the chevalier Kermode and his two half- 
brothers left the cabin, and the abbe proceeded. 

“Where is this M. de Starhemberg, monseigneur?” 

“Gone. And I hope to the devil,” replied the chevalier 
amiably. 

“Ah ! And mademoiselle Martigny ?” 

“Gone with him.” 

The abbe staggered to his feet rather excitedly. 

“How long ago, monseigneur?” he asked. 

“Perhaps eight or ten minutes, abbe.” 

Gaultier swallowed the brandy he had poured out, and 
took one or two unsteady steps forward. 

“Monseigneur,” he said, “do me the great favor to lend 
me your arm to the deck. I feel very faint, and this place 
seems dreadfully stuffy.” 

“Very willingly, M. l'abbe.” 

The chevalier and Gaultier went out arm in arm upon 
the main deck. The fog covered the water, and nothing 
could be seen in the direction of the town. All was quiet, 
save for the lapping of the wavelets against the schooner's 
side. 

The abbe looked towards the shore,, and listened eagerly 
for a few seconds. Presently there came the sound of cries 


233 


King, by Right Divine 

and a shout, and the abbe leaned forward over the bul- 
warks with an expression of intense interest on his pallid 
face. Then a woman’s scream, distant but piercing, rang 
through the air. The abbe burst out laughing. 

“That is it,” he chuckled. “The fog comes in remark- 
ably well. It might have been arranged on purpose.” 

“What was that cry, abbe?” asked the chevalier. “Do 
you understand it ?” 

“Monseigneur,” replied the abbe, with the air of a man 
very well satisfied with himself, “I have settled a little 
score with someone who has annoyed me, and I presume 
you also — M. de Starhemberg.” 

“Curse the meddling bully !” snarled the chevalier 
venomously. “You may well talk of annoyance. I was 
never treated with such insolence before. He has carried 
off Thekla.” 

“With her ready concurrence, may I ask?” 

“She w r as influenced by his violence — that was quite 
clear. But what have you done ?” 

“Monseigneur, wffien I got here, I found the boat still 
alongside in which this fellow had rowed from the shore, 
and the men said he was going back in it. It occurred to 
me that it would serve him out for his officious interfer- 
ence if the boat sank while he w r as returning. So I looked 
about under the loose floor, found the plug, and tied a 
piece of string very firmly to it. The other end of the 
string I passed through the floor-board, and secured to 
one of the oars. Then I kicked the plug until it was nearly 
loose, and came aw r ay.” 

“Well, what is the use of all that ?” 

“The use of all that, monseigneur, is that the first move- 
ment of the oar has pulled the plug out. If things have 
gone well, the boat has filled and sunk, and if they have 
gone better still, both monsieur and mademoiselle are by 
this time food for fishes.” 

The chevalier looked at the abbe with a certain dubious 
admiration. 

“That was decidedly clever of you, abbe,” he remarked. 
“Only, if you are right in your expectation, there will un- 
fortunately be a boat to be paid for. We are only hiring 
these wherries.” 


234 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

'‘It was not one of the wherries,” explained the abbe. 
“They told me it was the schooner's own boat.” 

The chevalier started. 

“What !” he cried, “the small white boat ?” 

“Yes,” replied the abbe. 

“With lockers in the bow and stern ?” gasped the cheva- 
lier, in horror-stricken tones. 

“That was so, now you describe it.” 

The chevalier flung his hat down on the deck with a 
furious execration. 

“Damnation!” he yelled, “you have ruined the expedi- 
tion — destroyed us !” 

“What on earth ” began the abbe, thinking his com- 

panion had suddenly gone mad. 

“You fool!” screamed the chevalier, shaking his fist in 
the other's face, “you ass, you pig, you unspeakable idiot ! 
All the treasure of the expedition was in those lockers. 
You have sent twenty-seven thousand louis d'or to the 
bottom of the sea !” 

Gaultier was struck speechless, while the chevalier, fran- 
tic with rage and disappointment, raved and cursed till he 
was too hoarse and breathless to utter any intelligible 
sound. 

The abbe did not reply by a single word. He stood for 
several seconds livid and trembling, his ears deaf to the 
storm of vituperation poured into them, and his eyes 
staring into vacancy. Then he gave a little shudder, 
passed his tongue over his dry lips, and whispered to him- 
self, 

“I was right after all. It was that demon Ambrose 
Gwvnett, and they have let him loose from hell to undo 

rvio » 


King, by Right Divine 


235 


CHAPTER XXV. 

HOW M. DE BAUGE CAME TO THE HOTEL CROISSY. 

I T was on a Saturday afternoon, as has been mentioned, 
that Gwynett had returned from Havre to St. Malo. 
The following Wednesday evening a gentleman rode 
into Paris, and went to the Palais-Royal to ask for an au- 
dience of the regent. He was told that monseigneur was 
spending the evening at M. de TorcyV hotel, and that he 
might possibly be able to see him there. The visitor ac- 
cordingly directed his steps towards the hotel Croissy, the 
town house of the mother of the marquis, and the one he 
had usually occupied since the court had been transferred 
from Versailles to Paris. 

The party at the hotel Croissy was only a small one, and 
included M. de Lavalaye and his wife, the abbe Dubois, 
and madame de Valincour. Lord Stair had been present 
earlier in the evening, but had left. The countess of Stair 
had not accompanied him, as she was expecting to become 
a mother in the course of a few weeks, and had for the 
time being ceased to go into society. The earl had kept 
exceedingly quiet about the proceedings of the Stuart par- 
tisans since the interview with the regent already record- 
ed, and both the latter and Dubois inferred therefrom that 
he was awaiting, probably with a good deal of impa- 
tience and surprise, a message from colonel Douglas. 

The comtesse de Valincour had been duly informed of 
GwynetPs mission, and of his successive reports thereon, 
by the abbe Dubois. On this particular evening the two 
had been discussing the unexplained absence of news from 
St. Malo during the last few days. It should be remem- 
bered that GwynetPs real name was known only to the re- 
gent, de Torcy, and the Lavalayes, while madame de Val- 
incour and Dubois, in common with the rest of the world, 
had no idea that that of Starhemberg was an assumed 
one. 


236 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Our last news was sent off on Thursday / 5 the abbe 
was saying. “M. de Starhemberg was then starting for 
Havre to find out why the hired vessel was not at St. Malo 
as had been arranged . 55 

“It is an unfortunate hitch / 5 said the comtesse, who 
had heard nothing from her brother since his departure, 
and was rather wondering if his plans with regard to the 
M. de Vaudemont’s gift had arrived any nearer fruition. 
“It gives time for admiral Byng to make discoveries . 55 

“With all deference to you, comtesse, I think it is a pity 
he has not been enabled to make some before . 55 

“We agreed, abbe, to leave that matter alone for a lit- 
tle. As I told you, it suits some plans of my brother’s to 
let things go to a certain length, and so long as lord Stair 
makes no demands he has not the smallest ground for dis- 
satisfaction with the regent’s government. As for M. de 
Starhemberg, I think he has saved us from a considerable 
scandal .’ 5 

“I do not say the contrary,” replied Dubois. “But I 
should have preferred, on the whole, that your brother 
had not had that fine idea of his at Commercy. We are 
not out of the wood yet, in spite of M. de Starhemberg.” 

The regent was coming up to join in the discussion 
when word was brought to him that a visitor had called 
who was anxious to see him. 

“His name is the chevalier de Bauge, monseigneur,” 
said the servant, “and he comes from St. Malo.” 

The regent exchanged a glance with Dubois, and went 
out to the reception-room where the visitor was waiting. 
De Bauge rose and bowed as the regent entered. 

“You wish to sppak to me, M. de Bauge?” asked the 
regent, returning the other’s salutation. 

“Yes, monseigneur. Permit me to introduce myself as 
the son of M. le baron de Bauge, grand prevot de la Haute 
Normandie.” 

“I knew your father very well some years ago,” said 
the regent, shaking hands with the visitor. “I hope his 
health is improved. I heard of him recently through a 
friend of mine who had occasion to see him.” 

“M. de Starhemberg, probably.” 

“Yes.” 

“It is about that gentleman that I have called upon you, 


King, by Right Divine 237 

monseigneur. I was recommended to apply to you for in- 
formation respecting M. de Starhemberg’s family.” 

“Recommended by whom, monsieur?” 

“By a certain M. Macdonald, monseigneur, whom I met 
at St. Malo, and who knew M. de Starhemberg.” 

The regent looked curiously at the visitor. 

“I do not know M. Macdonald,” he said. “Although I 
know M. de Starhemberg, unfortunately I can tell you 
-nothing about his family/* 

“Whom can I ask, monseigneur? It is a very unfortu- 
nate affair.” 

“What is, monsieur ?” 

“About M. de Starhemberg. He is dead.** 

“Dead !** 

“Yes, monseigneur. He was drowned last Saturday 
night in the harbor of St. Malo. I have come to Paris to 
acquaint his relatives, if I can hear of any, with the re- 
grettable news/* 

The regent looked at de Bauge for some seconds with- 
out speaking. He seemed to breathe with difficulty, and 
his voice, when he at last spoke, was so altered that de 
Bauge was almost startled. 

“I am very sorry to hear this, monsieur. Do you hap- 
pen to know the details?” 

De Bauge hesitated for a moment, and then said, 

“Monseigneur, I understood from M. de Starhemberg, 
with whom I had been only a few days acquainted, that 
some friends of his were on the point of leaving St. Malo 
by ship, and he parted from me to go on board and say 
good-bye to them. On returning, his boat sank, and he 
disappeared .* 5 

“How was that known ?** 

“His shouts were heard, monseigneur, by M. Macdon- 
ald — one of the friends I spoke of — and some of the sail- 
ors of the ship, who were rowing to it from the shore. 
They came up to him as he was swimming, but most un- 
luckily one of them by mischance struck him on the head 
with his oar. It must have stunned him, for he sank in- 
stantly, and they saw no more of him.** 

“And when did you hear of it, monsieur?” 

“Almost at once ; monseigneur. I was on the beach 


238 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

when the boat returned to the shore with M. de Starhem- 
berg’s companion.” 

“He was not alone, then?” 

“Ho, monseigneur. He was bringing back from the 
ship a young lady, who was rescued alive, but uncon- 
scious. She was known to me — in fact, she is a neighbor 
of ours at Boissy, near Honancourt. She soon came to her- 
self, and I took charge of her and escorted her home to 
her family. M. Macdonald, in the meantime, embarked, 
after asking me to acquaint you with M. de Starhem- 
berg’s sad fate.” 

The regent received these details in silence, and after 
a pause said, 

“Monsieur, I am indebted to you for the trouble you 
have taken in this matter. I will charge myself with the 
duty of informing such relatives and friends of M. de 
Starhemberg as I may be able to find. Are you making 
any stay in Paris?” 

“Ho, monseigneur. I return home to-morrow.” 

“Do me the favor to convey my compliments to M. le 
baron de Bauge.” 

“He will be greatly honored by your message, mon- 
seigneur.” 

De Bauge took his departure, and the regent went back 
to the salon. His unusual gravity and preoccupied air 
very soon attracted notice, but no one cared to evince any 
curiosity by asking questions. Finally he said to de Torcy, 

“M. le marquis, I am sorry to do or say anything to in- 
terfere with the pleasure of the evening, but as a matter 
of fact, I have just received some bad news — news which 
I am sure you will hear with as much regret as myself. 
Our friend M. de Starhemberg is dead.” 

The marquis uttered an exclamation, and the regent 
went on, 

“He was accidentally drowned on Saturday night, in 
the harbor of St. Malo. My informant was on the shore 
at the time, and heard of the affair within a few minutes 
of its occurrence.” 

In speaking to de Torcy the regent had been standing 
with his back to a group composed of the guests already 
mentioned. The sound of a little disturbance from this 
group caused him to turn round suddenly, and he saw one 


King, by Right Divine 239 

of the ladies lying on the floor. Hastening with some 
others to her assistance, he fonnd it was madame de Val- 
incour, and that she had fainted. The comtesse was lifted 
on to a sofa, and restoratives were sent for, while madame 
de Lavalaye remarked to the regent in explanation, 

“Monseigneur, we were all listening to your news, when 
madame la comtesse fell to the ground before any of us 
could reach her.” 

“The comtesse is very sensitive,” put in Dubois, with 
prompt diplomacy, “and monseigneur will permit me to 
say that his news might have been broken a little more 
gently. The comtesse has, of course, regarded M. de Star- 
hemberg as one of her intimate friends, and it is not sur- 
prising that the sudden shock has been too much for her.” 

The regent nodded assentingly. 

“M. kabbe is quite right,” he said to madame de Lava- 
laye. “May I ask, madame, that you will be so kind as 
to bestow your care upon madame la comtesse until she 
comes to herself again? And in the meantime the rest of 
us will make no further demands upon your hospitality 
to-night.” 

The party broke up at this hint, and left the salon to 
madame de Lavalaye and the marquise de Croissy’s maids. 
The regent and Dubois waited with de Torcy in the li- 
brary until word was brought by Lavalaye that the com- 
tesse had recovered consciousness. 

“My wife,” he said, “has been trying to persuade ma- 
dame de Valincour to remain here till morning, in order 
to keep her company. But the comtesse prefers to go 
straight home, monseigneur, and asks you to excuse her 
saying good night.” 

“That is all right,” said the regent. “My thanks to the 
ladies, M. de Lavalaye. Marquis, I must apologize for 
upsetting your circle, but at the moment I had really no 
thought except for the loss we have sustained. Come, 
abbe.” 

Th regent entered his carriage with Dubois, and drove 
home to the Palais-Boyal. Nothing was said on the way, 
and Dubois continued to preserve a discreet silence while 
his companion alighted and led the way to his private 
cabinet. The regent dropped into a chair, rang for wine, 
and drank a couple of glasses without taking any notice of 


240 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

the abbe’s presence. At last the latter decided to break 
the ice. 

“This is an unfortunate business, monseigneur,” he re- 
marked. 

The regent raised his head slowly to look at Dubois, and 
then let it fall again. 

“Yes,” he replied, half to himself — “a damnable busi- 
ness. And it was I who set it going. That sticks in my 
gizzard. I shall never forgive myself — never.” 

“Monseigneur, no one can foresee accidents of this sort. 
And certainly no pressure was put upon M. de Starhem- 
berg to undertake the affair — he accepted it quite will- 
ingly. No blame attaches to you or anyone in the mat- 
ter.” 

“What has that to do with it? It will not bring him 
back to life again. I have not felt such a sense of irrep- 
arable loss since Louis de Bourgogne died. One does not 
meet men like the dauphin and M. de Starhemberg thrice 
in a lifetime. I doubt if that fact weighs as much with 
you as with me, abbe. I doubt still more if there is any- 
thing about my feelings in the matter that you can in the 
least Understand.” 

“I dare say not, monseigneur.” 

“It is not your fault, perhaps. But you would be none 
the worse for understanding. Now it is too late.” 

The regent rose from his chair, and, with a sign of dis- 
missal to the abbe, went away to his laboratory. The 
lights and fires were lit there, as was usual whether the 
room was to be used or not. Everything lay undisturbed 
as it had been left on the occasion of Gwynett accepting 
the mission to follow and protect the chevalier de St. 
George. His blouse and apron hung from the hook where 
he had placed them while the regent was writing out his 
warrant of plenary powers. The drawer was open from 
which the writing materials and the rouleaux of louis d’or 
had been taken. The regent walked to the cabinet and shut 
the drawer with a half-shudder. Then he rang a bell, and 
seated himself in the easy-chair before the fire. The Nu- 
remberg clock on the laboratory wall was striking eight 
-as the servant entered in response to the summons. 

“I shall want nothing more to-night,” said the regent. 

The valet bowed, and withdrew. The regent leaned 


King, by Right Divine 241 

back in his chair, and gazed at the embers of the cedar- 
wood fire in the grate. 

“This looks like the last of my friendships,” he thonght. 
“All the others — what are they? Self-seekers, the best of 
them. If I were not the dnc d' Orleans, or the regent, but 
a plain gentleman from whom nothing was to be gained, 
how many of my dear friends wonld trouble themselves 
about my existence ? Poor Louis ! he often used to say a 
king could hope for everything except a friend. And fate 
seems to prove him right, after all.” 

He rose and moved restlessly about the room for a min- 
ute or two. Then he stopped before the fire. 

“It is singular,” he said to himself. “From what de 
Torcy told me, de Starhemberg always met with his mis- 
fortunes in serving his friends. All the more reason why 
he should not have been sent on this errand. It almost 
makes one believe in destiny — especially after that even- 
ing at madame d’Argenton’s.” 

He sat down again, and fell into a brown study, recall- 
ing one after another of the incidents which had connect- 
ed him with Gwynett. Little by little his eyes closed, and 
he only opened them once or twice when a half-burnt log 
of wood in the grate fell with a crash into a fresh posi- 
tion. Then he sank to sleep. 

A couple of minutes later the door of the laboratory 
opened, and Gwynett walked in. 

He noticed the regent sitting in the arm-chair, but saw 
that he was asleep and- took care not to disturb him. He 
divested himself of his cloak and coat, hung them up with 
his hat, and put on his working blouse and apron to re- 
sume the work upon which he Iiad been engaged before his 
departure for Nonancourt. 

The regent’s nap did not last very long. When he 
awoke and opened his eves they fell upon Gwy nett’s hat 
and cloak, which were hanging exactly opposite to him. 
For a moment the force of habit prevented his being in 
any way struck by what he saw. Then a confused wonder 
began to steal over him, and he gazed at the cloak for sev- 
eral seconds till a slight sound to his left reached his ear, 
and caused him to turn his head. Gwynett was standing 
by one of the dressers, holding a test-tube up against the 
light, and letting a re-agent fall into it drop by drop. 


242 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Evidently I am dreaming,” thought the regent. “Still 
it is a consolation to have ' dreams as vivid as this. I 
should very much like to see his face.” 

He watched Gwynett for some seconds, and then, mak- 
ing an effort, said aloud, 

“Good evening, M. de Starhemberg.” 

“Good evening, monseigneur,” replied Gwynett, with his 
eyes still fixed on the test-tube. 

“This is not altogether like a dream,” mused the regent. 
“Can it be possible ” 

He looked at the cloak again, and remarked aloud, 

“Either I have been dreaming, M. de Starhemberg, or 
somebody has been saying you were drowned.” 

“Possibly both, monseigneur. Certainly, I have been 
drowned.” 

“Good Lord !” ejaculated the regent, half to himself. 
He looked at Gwynett again very hard, and after a pause 
asked, 

“Really drowned, M. de Starhemberg?” 

“Yes — for all practical purposes, monseigneur. Luck- 
ily, there was a friend of mine there, from Calais, who 
has a theory of resuscitation of drowned persons. He put 
it into operation with me, and, as you see, successfully. 
After he had brought me back to life, he insisted on my 
staying in bed for a day or two, or I should have been here 
before.” 

“All this is astounding. But I am enormously glad to 
see you again. I was at de Torcy’s this evening, when a 
certain M. de Bauge brought us the news of your death.” 

“I was not aware of his taking that step.” 

“He said Macdonald had sent him.” 

“Very likely, monseigneur. M. Macdonald would nat- 
urally only know of my sinking, and, like M. de Bauge, 
had no idea of what happened later.” 

“And what was that?” 

“Perhaps, monseigneur, I had better complete my re- 
port of what has occurred since I started for Havre."” 

Gwynett proceeded to detail his experiences up to the 
time of the rescue of Thekla and his own mishap at the 
hands of the boat’s crew which came to their assistance. 

“From what I am told, monseigneur, the wherry rowed 
round and round for some little time in the hope of my 


243 


King, by Right Divine 

coming to the surface again. Then they gave it up as 
hopeless, and took mademoiselle Martigny to the shore, 
where it happened that M. de Bauge was talking to M. 
Macdonald. M. de Bauge at once took charge of her, had 
her removed to the ‘Trois Matelots,' and with the assist- 
ance of the landlady, got her a change of clothing. After 
that, as she seemed none the worse for her dipping, he 
took her away in a post-chaise. M. Macdonald had by this 
time gone on board the Royal Mary in the wherry. But 
in the meanwhile, one of the local fishermen, who was 
close to the place where I had sunk, in drawing up his 
line found that it had caught in my cloak, and my ap- 
parently lifeless body was thus brought to the surface. 
This man had heard of Dr. Vidal's experiment at Calais. 
Partly out of curiosity, and partly in the hope of reward, 
he rowed ashore and carried me to the doctor's house. M. 
Vidal at once set to work to try and resuscitate me, in the 
manner I have already mentioned to you, and, after three 
hours' unceasing effort, was successful." 

“And were you none the worse for your experience?" 

“I was very weak at first. But a couple of days' and 
nights' rest set me right again. I left St. Malo yesterday 
in a comfortable travelling-carriage, and have just ar- 
rived." 

“Certainly you look very much as usual, and I hope your 
health will not suffer. So M. le chevalier de St. George 
is off at last?" 

“I do not know, monseigneur." 

“ Diable ! how is that ?" 

“It appears, monseigneur, that as the Royal Mary was 
weighing anchor, a fishing-boat brought the news that ad- 
miral Byng was off the port. Although all the papers 
were in order for both ship and passengers, the chevalier 
must have taken fright, for he came ashore again at once 
with a companion — probably one of his suite. The Royal 
Mary, however, set sail, and went out with the tide. 
Whether the admiral followed her or not, I don’t know. 
But in the morning none of his vessels were in sight." 

“And what became of the chevalier?" 

“From what I Darned at the inn where he stayed, I 
imagine that he and his companion must have decided to 
meet the Royal Mary at some other port — probably Dun- 


244 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

kerque, as the papers were made out for that place. The 
two gentlemen hired horses the next morning, and rode 
away in the direction of Havre. They had thus more 
than twenty-four hours’ start of any pursuit I could have 
made. In view of the new turn things had taken, I thought 
it better to come back to Paris, and report to you in per- 
son. I may point out to you, monseigneur, that I consid- 
ered my mission at an end when I had seen M. le chevalier 
de St. George safely on board the Royal Mary ; and I will 
add, that as far as my own wishes are concerned I do not 
desire to have anything more to do with M. le chevalier.” 

“Let him go to the devil,” remarked the regent. “I 
always had the lowest opinion of him, and certainly your 
story does nothing to raise it. But as to your friend, M. 
Yidal — does he live at St. Malo?” 

“Yes, monseigneur. But he is at the moment in Paris, 
in my apartments. He had occasion to come here on some 
business, and travelled up with me.” 

The regent went to his escritoire, wrote on a sheet of 
paper, and handed it to Gwynett. The latter read : 

“M. le docteur Yidal is hereby appointed physician-in- 
chief to monseigneur le regent in Paris. 

“Philippe.” 

“Do me the favor, M. de Starhemberg,” said the re- 
gent, “to transmit that to your ingenious friend. A man 
who has ideas of that sort is worth his weight in gold. To 
find a doctor putting breath into dead bodies is revolu- 
tionary. Usually, they rob live ones of the little they 
have to spare.” 

“It will be a great gratification to him, monseigneur.” 

“I shall be the grateful and obliged person, if he will 
accept the post. Besides, it will make Fagon furious. 
That will be a comfortable thing for me to reflect upon.” 

“In the meantime, monseigneur, as it appears M. de 
Torcy has heard of my accident, I should like him to know 
of my safe return.” 

“I will send to him at once; also to madame de Yalin- 
cour, who took the matter worse than any of us — in fact, 
she fainted. I confess I blurted the news out rather clum- 
sily. And now let us have supper. I give you my word 
of honor that half an hour ago I never expected to swal- 
low a mouthful with any comfort again.” 


King, by Right Divine 


245 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

AT LORD STAIR’S. 

A DIEU, my dear madame de Lavalaye, and a thou- 
sand apologies. I am really quite ashamed of giv- 
ing you all so much trouble. Adieu, M. de Torcy.” 
“Adieu, comtesse. We shall hope to hear of your com- 
plete recovery in the morning.” 

“That will go without saying, M. le marquise.” 
Madame de Valincour drove off home, and M. de Torcy 
returned with the Lavalayes to the salon. 

“This is a truly shocking affair,” he observed. “I am 
sure monseigneur will feel it very much. He had come to 
have a great regard for poor M. de Starhemberg. As 
for myself, I could not have a higher regard for anyone.” 

“It looks as if you and madame de Valincour were 
rather of one mind,” put in Victoire. 

“It was a little awkward for monseigneur, that faint- 
ing, certainly,” assented the marquis. 

“He did not seem to take much notice,” said Lavalaye. 
“Pooh ! my dear fellow, M. d’ Orleans can see nothing as 
well as most people, when it suits him.” 

“That is all very well,” said Victoire. “But I should 
like to know what Rene would have said — and especially 
what he would have thought — if I had happened to faint, 
instead of madame de Valincour.” 

“A diplomatist should always decline to answer hypo- 
thetical questions,” replied the marquis, “and I forbid you 
to get Rene into bad habits.” 

Victoire shook her head with a wise air. 

“You may say what you like,” she persisted. “But I 
could have told you before that madame de Valincour was 
very fond of M. de Starhemberg. I have watched her 
more than once at her house, when he has been there.” 

“I always said that the comtesse had excellent taste,” 
remarked the marquis. “But certainly until now I never 


246 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

suspected her of having a heart. All the worse for her, 
perhaps, if she has.” 

At this moment there was a rather imperative knocking 
at the hall door of the hotel, and the servant who an- 
swered it announced that lord Stair’s confidential valet 
urgently desired to see M. de Torcy. The marquis waved 
an assent, and the valet was ushered into the salon. 

“I beg a thousand pardons, M. le marquis,” said he, “for 
intruding upon you, but we are seeking his lordship and 
cannot learn where he is. His house has been on fire.” 

“On fire! is it still burning?” 

“No, M. le marquis — at least, nothing to speak of. The 
servants and grooms had managed to get the flames under 
before I left the house. But her ladyship is very ill in- 
deed — in fact, the child has been born prematurely, and 
we are most anxious to find lord Stair.” 

“He left here an . hour ago,” replied de Torcy. “We 
thought he was going home. He must have made another 
call elsewhere.” 

Inquiry was made among the servants at the hotel 
Croissy, but it did not appear that anyone had heard the 
destination of the earl’s carriage when he had driven away 
earlier in the evening. 

“Madame de Caylus has her salon to-night,” suggested 
the marquis finally. “You may find milord Stair there. 
In the meantime I will send a messenger to monseigneur 
le regent, who ought certainly to be informed of this un- 
fortunate occurrence.” 

The valet expressed his thanks and retired, while M. de 
Torcy ordered his sedan chair. 

“On second thoughts,” he said to Lavalaye, “I will go 
myself to the Palais-Royal, and learn a few more partic- 
ulars about poor M. de Starhemberg. I suppose the gen- 
tleman who brought the news to monseigneur must have 
given some details, although we did not hear them.” 

The marquis went off in his chair to the Palais-Royal, 
and thereby missed the regent’s messenger, who had been 
sent to inform him of Gwynett’ s return. Asking for the 
regent, he was invited to join him at the supper-table. 
He followed the gentleman-in-waiting to the duke’s cab- 
inet, where private meals were usually served, and was 


King, by Right Divine 247 

rather surprised at hearing a peal of laughter from the 
regent just as the door was opened. 

“Peste !” he muttered to himself, “the duke is bearing 
his loss with more resignation than I expected.” 

He advanced into the room and stopped suddenly, pet- 
rified with astonishment at the sight of Gwynett facing 
him across the table. Reminiscences of his host’s fond- 
ness for practical joking flashed across his mind, and he 
remarked to the regent, with a considerable amount of 
annoyance, 

“I must congratulate you, monseigneur, on the success 
of your little trick. At the same time, I am afraid the 
ladies will be rather backward in expressing their grati- 
tude to you for it.” 

“Trick!” echoed the regent. “My dear marquis, you 
were never more mistaken in your life. When M. de 
Starhemberg came in half an hour ago, I took him for a 
ghost, on my honor. Have you not had my message about 
him ?” 

“Ho. Probably I passed the messenger on the way. 
But this is really a second edition of a former surprise 
of mine, when M. de Starhemberg arrived at Versailles 
the morning of the king’s death. Was it all a mistake, 
then, chevalier?” 

Gwynett briefly repeated the explanation already given 
to the regent, and expressed his regret that there should 
have been needless concern on his account. 

“I had no idea of M. de Bauge’s visit,” he said, “or I 
should of course have hastened to put matters straight.” 

“But if you were not aware of the chevalier’s safe re- 
turn,” asked the regent, “what happy thought brings you 
here now, marquis?” 

“Nothing particularly happy, at all events for milord 
Stair,” replied the marquis. 

“What is the matter?” 

The marquis recounted the valet’s message, and the re- 
gent at once rose from the table. 

“My dear chevalier,” he asked, “do you suppose your 
estimable Dr. Vidal has gone to bed yet?” 

“Probably not, monseigneur.” 

“Then let us send for him to go to the hotel Stair. The 


248 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

chances are that they need some man there who has a grain 
of sense. We will go also, if yon are not too tired.” 

"I am quite ready, monseigneur. Allow me first to write 
a note to Dr. Vidal.” 

The note was written and despatched, and the party put 
on their hats and cloaks. 

"It is a fine night,” remarked the regent, "and we can 
walk there before the carriage can be brought round. Let 
us be off.” 

At the hotel Stair a crowd of curious onlookers nearly 
blocked the entrance. Smoke was still issuing from some 
of the windows, and within the building everything was in 
confusion. The countess was in the hands of Dr. Fagon 
and another medical man, who were quarrelling furiously, 
and the patient was reported to be unconscious. 

On inquiry, the regent was informed by the steward of 
the household that when the alarm of fire was given the 
countess was in bed, quite alone, and unprovided with a 
light. No one had replied to her call for help, and in her 
terror and bewilderment she had sprung from the couch, 
fallen over some article of furniture, and remained lying 
helpless on the floor for nearly a quarter of an hour be- 
fore assistance was rendered. Her accouchement ha<j 
been expected, as before mentioned, in a few weeks. But 
the double shock of the fright and the fall had brought 
matters to a premature crisis, and when she was found 
by her maids, the child, a boy, was already born. The 
excitement of the fire and the illness of the countess had 
disorganized the whole household, and the dispute be- 
tween the two doctors who had been summoned had only 
increased the confusion. 

The arrival a few minutes later of the earl, simul- 
taneously with that of Dr. Vidal, offered a chance of some- 
thing like order being restored, and the regent promptly 
took matters in hand. He came out of the countess’s 
boudoir to meet the breathless earl, as the latter, followed 
by Vidal, rushed up the stairs, and shook him by the hand. 

"My dear milord Stair,” he said, "the condition of 
madame de Stair is very critical — so critical that I have 
sent for mv own first physician to take charge of her if 
you have no objection,” 


249 


King, by Right Divine 

“Objection !” cried the earl. “Good Lord ! no — yon are 
exceedingly kind to help ns in the matter. Is he here ?” 

Gwynett silently indicated Vidal to the regent, who 
went on, 

“Permit me to introduce to yon M. le docteur Vidal. I 
will clear the coast for him.” 

He signed to the steward, and said to him aside, 

“Tell Dr. Fagon, privately, that the regent particularly 
wishes to see him in the library. When he is there, tell 
the other doctor that the regent particularly wishes to see 
him in the dining-room. Yon understand?” 

The steward bowed appreciatively, and went off to the 
door of the countess’s room. Presently the wrangle be- 
tween the two medicos ceased, and their footsteps could 
be heard successively descending the side staircase to the 
ground floor. The regent nodded to Vidal, and pointed to 
the ante-chamber door. 

“Now is your time, M. Vidal,” he said. “Milord will 
take you in.” 

The earl and the doctor disappeared through the ante- 
chamber into the bedroom, and two or three maids were 
promptly turned out, leaving with the patient only the 
nurse, who was luckily in the house at the time of the dis- 
aster. According to the maids, the child had been dead 
some little time, and the earl was quite crushed by the 
news which met him on entering. 

“That will be a terrible blow for M. de Stair,” remarked 
de Torcv to Gwynett. “He has been building everything 
on the birth of an heir to the earldom.” 

Presently the doctor came back, signed to the three gen- 
tlemen to enter the dressing-room next the bedroom, and 
locked the outer door. 

“M. de Starhemberg,” he said quickly, “the countess is 
recovering consciousness, and asking for the baby. Of 
course it is dead. We cannot tell her that, and if she in- 
sists on seeing the child, it will throw her back to refuse. 
Does she know you bv sight ?” 

“I think not” 

“Could you put her to sleep ?” 

“Possibly.” 

“Come and try.” 


250 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The doctor and Gwynett entered the bedroom just as a 
feeble voice from the pillow asked, 

“Why do you not give me the baby ?” 

“We are attending to it, madame,” replied Vidal. 

“Show it me.” 

“In a moment, madame. I wish my colleague to ex- 
amine the wound on your head, which you received in 
your fall.” 

Vidal made way for Gwynett, who went behind the 
countess, and said, 

“Be good enough to close your eyes, madame. I shall 
only detain you two or three minutes.” 

He placed his hands gently on the countess’s temples, 
and breathed on her forehead, while Vidal signed to the 
earl and the nurse to keep silence. The countess lay still, 
and her hurried breathing became regular. A couple of 
minutes elapsed, and Gwynett rose. 

“I think madame is asleep,” he said, watching her face. 

The patient took no notice of the remark, but lay peace- 
fully with closed eyes. Gwynett raised her hand and arm, 
to place them in a more comfortable position, but the 
countess did not stir. 

“That will do for the present,” he said to Vidal. “Whe^e 
is the child?” 

The nurse pointed to a little heap of wool in a wicker 
tray on the table, by which the earl was sitting with his 
face buried in his hands. Gwynett went across with the 
doctor, and uncovered the little white form, whose icy 
coldness told its own tale. 

“How long has it been dead ?” he asked Vidal. 

“Probably twenty minutes.” 

“More than that, monsieur,” put in the nurse. 

“Did it live at all?” 

“It was quite warm when we came and found madame on 
the floor,” replied the nurse. “But we don’t know whether 
it breathed afterwards.” 

“Was it possible to do anything, M. Vidal?” 

Vidal shrugged his shoulders. 

“Hot since my own arrival,” he replied. “I found it 
then as you see it now.” 

Gwynett looked at the child’s body for a moment or two, 
and then whispered to Vidal, 


25 r 


King, by Right Divine 

“I will try something.” 

He took up the little fragment of humanity, wrapped in 
its covering of wool, and carried it into the adjoining dress- 
ing-room, where there was a broad settee. Laying it down 
upon the cushions, he knelt before it, and took the tiny 
arms and shoulders within his two hands. Then he bowed 
his head upon the cold breast and breathed deeply and 
regularly upon it. 

The regent and de Torcy looked on with some surprise, 
and the former cast an inquiring glance upon the mar- 
quis. He was evidently under the impression that Gwynett 
was performing some Protestant act of devotion, and ac- 
cordingly assumed an expression of decorous solemnity 
which almost brought a smile to the face of de Torcy. 

Several minutes passed, and Vidal, watching intently, 
noticed a faint flush begin to spread over the pallid limbs 
of the child. Gwynett continued to breathe upon its chest, 
holding its hands and arms as before. A little later the 
lips parted slightly once or twice, and the rosy color deep- 
ened. Then the tiny features quivered, puckered up, and 
became placid again. Gwynett persevered without a pause 
in his operations. By-and-by the lips parted again and 
remained open, and the eyelids trembled slightly. The 
next moment the ghost of a sound, hardly louder than that 
from a newly born kitten, came from the child’s lungs. It 
was repeated, and Gwynett raised his head. . 

“The child lives,” he said to Vidal.* 

“Wonderful!” muttered the doctor under his breath, 
while the regent and de Torcy looked on in complete stupe- 
faction. 

Gwynett replaced the folds of wool over the child’s body, 
and said to Vidal, 

“Let the nurse have it now. And then, doctor, yon 
must help me up. This sort of thing takes a good deal 
out of one.” 

While the 'nurse removed the baby, Vidal and de Torcy 
came to render Gwynett the assistance he requested, and 
were surprised to find that he was so utterly exhausted as 
to be unable either to rise unaided or to keep his feet when 

* The subject of an experiment identical with that here de- 
scribed, and equally successful, is amongst the writer’s acquaint- 
ance. 


252 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

placed upon them. He was helped to an easy-chair, and 
sat there while lord Stair, who could scarcely believe his 
eyes when the nurse carried to him the living and breath- 
ing body of his son and heir, overwhelmed him with ex- 
pressions of gratitude and wonder. 

“I can never repay this obligation, M. de Starhemberg,” 
he said fervently. 

“I am not so sure of that, milord,” observed the regent, 
mindful of Gwynett’s equivocal position in the eye of the 
law. “An opportunity may perhaps come your way be- 
fore you expect it. But it just occurs to me that I have 
kept Dr. Fagon and his colleague waiting all this time. 
I think I had better go and appease them.” 

The regent left the room, and was absent several min- 
utes. When he came back he held some letters in his 
hand. 

“My secretary has come round after me,” he said to 
Gwynett, “and he brings some letters which have arrived 
this moment from England. There is one for you, also, 
M. le chevalier.” 

Gwynett took the letter held out to him by the regent, 
and opened it. It was from his lawyer, Mr. Wrottesley, 
and ran: 


“Canterbury, 'November 10th , 1715. 

“Dear Gwynett, 

“So far, I am sorry to say, we are still without news 
either of mistress Dorrington or her father, or of the 
Wrays in America. But to-day I heard from a corre- 
spondent at Peterhead that Noel Wray went to Scotland 
with lieutenant-general Hamilton in September, to join 
the forces under lord Mar, who is awaiting the arrival 
of the Pretender in Fifeshire. He was last seen with 
the regiment under colonel Hay. This is rather an un- 
fortunate outcome of his yearning to go a-soldiering, but 
I suppose he thought he might not easily get another op- 
portunity. Why he chose to serve the Pretender instead 
of king George I don’t know, unless it was out of respect 
for your memory. He always supposed you to be a ram- 
pant J acobite. 

“Your old friend, Peter Wrottesley.” 


King, by Right Divine 253 

Gwynett read this letter with a feeling of intense dis- 
satisfaction. 

“This is a deplorably bad job/’ he said to himself. 
“And still worse if I am in any indirect way responsible 
for it. Certainly I used long ago to air a good deal of non- 
sense about the Stuarts, father and son. But I should 
rather astonish master Noel if I could give him my pres- 
ent opinion of M. le chevalier de St. George. Something 
ought to be done, and at once. I should never forgive 
myself if Noel came to harm by serving that miserable 
cur, and I could have stopped it.” 

At this moment he was alone with the regent and de 
Torcy, the earl having gone back to the bedroom with 
Vidal. Gwynett decided to acquaint his companions with 
his news. 

“Monseigneur,” he said, “will you and M. de Torcy do 
me the favor to read this letter ?” 

The regent cast his eye over the paper, and passed it 
on to de Torcy. 

“What about it, chevalier?” he asked. 

“Monseigneur, you know that as a rule I do not care 
to ask things for myself. But I do not feel that I am 
justified in not asking for a friend — especially if that 
friend is possibly placed in a false position through my 
instrumentality. I should like, with your permission, 
to seek lord Stair’s good offices in case things go wrong 
with the young fellow who is mentioned in that letter.” 

“By all means. What is it you desire?” 

At this juncture lord Stair re-entered the room with 
offers of hospitality to his three guests. 

“Milord,” remarked the regent, “you were talking just 
now of your obligations to M. de Starhemberg. I think 
he can tell you how to repay him — in part, at least — if 
you ask him.” 

“Anything in the world!” cried the earl. “Speak, my 
dear chevalier — what can I possibly do for you?” 

“If you will be good enough to glance at this letter, 
milord, I will explain.” 

The earl took the letter, read it carefully, and asked, 

“How am I concerned in this, chevalier? Is it the 
case that you happen to be a sympathizer with the Pre- 
tender ?” 


254 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Exactly the contrary, milord. So much so that I in- 
tend to set ont at once for Scotland and endeavor to de- 
tach Mr. Wray from the Stnart cause. I am nnder the 
impression that I shall have no difficulty in doing so, if 
I can only find him.” 

“And how can I help you, chevalier?” 

“By giving me two pieces of paper, milord — a safe- 
conduct for myself in all parts of King George’s do- 
minions, and another for Noel Wray. I will take my 
chance of being shot as a spy by the Jacobites, but I 
wish to secure Wray against being hanged as a rebel by 
the royal forces.” 

“Certainly I will furnish you with the documents, 
chevalier. Is that all?” 

“There is one other matter, milord, in which you might 
perhaps be able to exert some influence, if you were dis- 
posed — and, by so doing, further the ends of justice.” 

“Name it, chevalier.” 

“Milord, it is to obtain a free pardon from the crown 
for a British subject who was convicted of felony nearly 
four years ago, and who to my certain knowledge was ab- 
solutely innocent of the crime imputed to him.” 

“What was the crime?” 

“He was convicted of murder, milord, and sentenced 
to death.” 

“The sentence was commuted, I suppose?” 

“No, milord.” 

“Then how did he escape hanging?” 

“He did not escape.” 

“Not escape? was he hanged, then?” 

“Yes, milord.” 

“But if so, what is the u^ of a pardon ?” 

“It may save him from being hanged twice over, mi- 
lord.” 

“Hanged twice, chevalier? what do you mean?” 

“His sentence is still in force, milord. The man I 
speak of came to life again after his execution, and fled 
abroad for safety.” 

“It seems incredible. Are you sure of what you say, 
chevalier? Who was the man?” 

Gwynett paused in momentary indecision, and then, de- 


King, by Right Divine 255 

ciding in favor of a complete confidence in the earl, re- 
plied, 

“Milord, it was I.” 

“Good God! yon?” 

“I, milord. My name is Ambrose Gwynett, of Thorn- 
hangh, and I was hanged for a crime which, to the best 
of my belief, was never committed at all. Perhaps I 
may add that my story is fully known to monseigneur here 
and to M. de Torcy.” 

The earl looked from Gwynett to his other two com- 
panions with the greatest surprise, and the regent hastened 
to say, 

“Milord, you may place implicit confidence in the chev- 
alier’s statement. My own acquaintance with the facts 
of the case would have led me, at an early date, to make 
personal representations to you in favor of a reconsid- 
eration of the sentence passed upon M. Ambrose Gwynett, 
had not this particular opportunity chanced to present 
itself.” 

“What I should promptly have done for yourself, mon- 
seigneur, I need not say shall be done still more promptly 
for Mr. Gwynett. I will at once communicate with his 
majesty’s government on the subject, and make it a per- 
sonal matter. In the meantime, I trust it will only be 
necessary for Mr. Gwynett to take every care of the safe- 
conduct i shall give him, and to demand a reference to 
me should any difficulty arise through its loss.” 

“That will be quite sufficient, milord,” replied Gwynett. 
“For the rest, I take my chance.” 

“So you are quite decided, chevalier?” asked the regent 
regretfully. 

“Necessity decides for me, monseigneur.” 

“Well, I shall really give you up this time. The 
pitcher cannot go to the well forever — eh, marquis?” 

“It seems to me, monseigneur, that the pitcher can go 
to bed, and the sooner the better. What do you say, 
chevalier ?” 

Gwynett still felt very much exhausted, and accepted 
the offer of a bed placed at his disposal by lord Stair, 
after which the regent went away with M. de Torcy. The 
countess still slept peacefully, and the baby followed her 
example. 


256 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The next day Gwynett took leave of M. d’Orleans and 
his other acquaintances in Paris, with the exception of 
madame de Valincour, who pleaded indisposition when 
he called at her hotel. He had previously asked Dr. 
Vidal, who was now installed at the Palais-Royal, to ex- 
amine the boy Justin, little Chariot’s companion, and let 
him know his opinion of his ailment. The doctor’s ver- 
dict was dhat the case was practically hopeless, the spine 
being incurably diseased. 

In the afternoon Gwynett, duly furnished with the 
safe-conducts promised by lord Stair, set off for Calais, 
whence he intended to take sail for the coast of Fife. 


THE 


BOOK III 




ROYAL MARY 




















































































I 




V V, 




» - 




■V 



























































- 























% 





























BOOK III 


The “Royal Mary” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

VISITORS AT HOLYWELL. 

B Y the time the Pretender, travelling via Dunkerque, 
had arrived at Peterhead on December 22nd, 1715, 
the Stuart cause was already lost. At the battles of 
Preston and Sheriffmuir his adherents had been utterly 
routed, and the surviving Jacobite forces in Scotland owed 
their security from molestation more to the snow and the 
impassable roads than the generalship of their leaders. 
The loss at St. Malo of the twenty-seven thousand louis 
d’or of M. de Vaudemont had been followed by the 
wreck of the ship carrying the hundred thousand crowns 
in gold sent by the king of Spain, and the Pretender was 
thus left without any war-chest. After a couple of 
months’ inaction, he deserted his army and set sail on 
February 4th, 1716, accompanied by lord Melfort and 
a few other supporters, for the continent. He arrived at 
Gravelines a week later, and went to take up his tem- 
porary residence in the neighborhood of Paris. 

Those of his followers who had fallen into the hands of 
the British forces came off more or less badly. Many 
were hanged or shot, and hundreds were sold into virtual 
slavery on the American plantations. Of the seven Jaco- 
bite peers who were taken prisoners, lords Kenmure and 
Derwentwater were executed on February 24th, lord Niths- 
dale escaped the previous night by exchanging clothes 
with his wife (who came ostensibly to visit him and re- 
mained behind in his cell), lord Winton broke prison bv 
filing through the bars of his window in the Tower, and 


260 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

lords Widdrington, Nairne, and Carnwath were pardoned. 
In the meantime the royalist forces continued to hunt 
down batches of Jacobite fugitives all over the country, 
and a commission for trying rebels of a rank inferior 
to the peers already specified met in -the Court of Com- 
mon Pleas in April. 

The duke of Marlborough, although nominally com- 
mander-in-chief, had taken no part at all in the military 
suppression of the rising, and had been living in semi- 
retirement at Holywell, his country house near St. Albans. 
He was still there when, on May 28th, he entertained at 
luncheon a visitor who had arrived from France the pre- 
vious day, and who had travelled with a good deal of 
secrecy under an assumed name. The visitor was his 
nephew the duke of Berwick, son of James II. and 
Arabella Churchill, and consequently half-brother to the 
Pretender. 

At the conclusion of the meal, which passed without 
any reference to the object of the marshal’s visit, the 
duke led his guest out upon the terrace, where the sun 
shone brilliantly and the air was as warm as in early 
summer. 

“Now that we are quite secure from eaves-droppers, my 
dear uncle,” began the marshal, “I will get to my busi- 
ness without delay. I have just come from Chalons.” 

“From Chalons?” 

“Yes. The chevalier’s incognito at the house in the 
Bois de Boulogne was altogether too carelessly maintained, 
and the regent was obliged to make representations. The 
chevalier therefore moved on to Chalons. But there a 
new obstacle presented itself. M. le due de Lorraine 
raised difficulties about a return to Bar-le-duc.” 

“Does he refuse his consent?” 

“Not in so many words. But he has written to say 
that, in view of his relations with the British government, 
he advises the chevalier to seek an asylum from Charles 
XII. in Rhenish Bavaria, at Zweibriicken. Should the 
king of Sweden refuse, he suggests that he may then 
take a return to Bar-le-duc into consideration. The chev- 
alier is very much disappointed, declines altogether to go 
to Zweibriicken, and is now talking of meeting his sup- 
porters at Avignon.” 


The “Royal Mary” 


261 


“Avignon?” echoed the duke, in some surprise. “That 
is a clever way of conciliating the English Protestant 
party.” * 

The marshal shrugged his shoulders. • 

“I think it is partly because Mar and Ormonde have 
been obliged to take refuge there,” he replied. 

“You must agree with me, marshal, that those two 
men are utterly incapable.” 

“It seems so. We have been decidedly unlucky in our 
leading men since Hamilton’s death.” 

The duke waved his hand impatiently. 

“Hamilton would have helped you no better,” he said. 
“What does Bolingbroke say about the Avignon scheme?” 

“Unfortunately there is no longer any question of 
Bolingbroke — another leUse” 

“I have not heard of that.” 

“So far as I can learn, the chevalier without a word of 
warning sent Bolingbroke a curt dismissal from his post 
of secretary of state, together with an order to hand over 
all his papers to Ormonde as his successor. This was 
about a month ago. Bolingbroke is furious, and has 
sworn to the queenf that his hand shall rot off before he 
ever uses pen or sword for the chevalier again.” 

The duke’s face assumed an expression of extreme dis- 
gust. 

“Of course,” he remarked. “He was the best man you 
had. In fact, the only man — that is to say, from England. 
But between ourselves, my dear nephew, it is all of a piece. 
Things have been botched from beginning to end.” 

“You are quite right,” replied the marshal, in a de- 
pressed tone, “and it is very discouraging. It seems really 
impossible to get the chevalier to place the most ordinary 
confidence in his friends, and we hear of blunders only 
when it is too late to remedy them. I give you my word 
that the first hint Bolingbroke and I had of Mar’s rising 
was from Braemar.” 

“I can quite believe it. All this is one of the reasons 
why I myself have, very reluctantly, held aloof in the mat- 
ter.” 


* Avignon and its surrounding county was at this time a Papal 
possession and a center of Papal influence, 
f The Widow of James II. 


262 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The marshal nodded, and looked at the dnke rather 
seriously. , 

“It is about that that I wished to have a few words 
with you,” he said. 

“I am quite at your service,” replied the duke. 

“I may speak freely?” 

“Why not?” 

“I do not forget, my dear uncle, that you are command- 
er-in-chief.” 

“Gad ! I am not often reminded of the circumstance,” 
replied the duke, who had found himself very much on 
the shelf since the Hanoverian accession. “Let us hear 
what you have to say, marshal.” 

“Well, as a matter of fact, my dear uncle, I am strongly 
of opinion that Avignon for the chevalier will be simply 
extinction.” 

“I agree with you there.” 

“On the other hand, our — or rather, his — recent fail- 
ure has been so deplorable as to make it almost hopeless 
to think of any other active steps at present. But in any 
case, I for one feel it to be imperative to learn precisely 
your own sentiments and intentions in the matter. I 
freely admit that there has been very little inducement 
of late for you to stand forth on our behalf.” 

“Permit me to say, marshal, that I do not need in- 
ducements. But it serves neither you nor me nor the 
chevalier to run one’s head against a brick wall in the 
dark. I heard of Mar’s rising only when it was begun. 
I heard of the chevalier’s journey only when it was 
ended. Had I been consulted — which I was not — I 
should, in the interests of the * chevalier, have protested 
against both steps. Had my assistance been asked — which 
was not the case — I should have refused it, and in both 
cases for the same reason.” 

“What reason, duke?” 

“Why, for the reason that revolutions — successful rev- 
olutions, that is — are not made that way. You may have 
a hundred ways of raising a revolt, but there is only one 
way of making a revolution.” 

“But you will admit it was necessary, sooner or later, 
to do something.” 


The “Royal Mary” 263 

“To do something, yes. But against the government, 
no.” 

“What then?” 

“What then? My dear marshal, did 1688 teach us 
nothing? Did William of Orange succeed by acting 
against the government ? A thousand times, no. Against 
the king, if you like. But with the government, with 
ministers, with the army, with the houses of parliament. 
Secure adherents all over the country, and you secure 
nothing. Have a controlling party amongst those who 
hold the reins of power, and you have everything. Ris- 
ings in the west, in the north, in Scotland — a dozen of 
these are not worth one vote of a majority in the privy 
council.” 

“Then you think the chevalier has destroyed every 
chance for himself?” 

“Hot at all. It is still in his favor that his party was 
defeated at Preston and Sheriffmuir.” 

“In his favor?” echoed the astonished marshal. 

“Good Lord! yes. Do you suppose that a couple of 
victories over British troops would have endeared the 
victor to the British public? William of Orange man- 
aged better than that in 1688. He knew that a victory 
over English forces would be fatal, and therefore he 
took care never to have a battle.” 

“But, my dear uncle, I do not see the chevalier's chance 
in all this. What can he do?” 

“I should recommend him, for one thing, to do what 
he is told — and for another, to be told by the proper per- 
sons. Let us say you and myself, by way of a change.” 

“Then you think something is possible?” 

“Many things 'are possible. If — mind, I only say if — 
king George were to die suddenly, and if the prince of 
Wales were in some way on the shelf, and if the chevalier 
happened to be in London, and were proclaimed king on 
the instant — in such a case I do not see why he should not 
go comfortably to St. James's, and stay there.” 

The marshal looked rather disappointed. 

“But there is not the slightest probability of anything 
of the sort,” he replied. 

“You think so?” asked the duke negligently. “Well, 
of course you know best.” 


264 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“But, my dear uncle ” 

“But, my dear nephew, what is the use of history if 
one never recollects it? One would think you had never 
heard of your ancestor Henri IV., who in his day was 
just as obnoxious to the Catholics as king George is now. 
Times are changed, no doubt, or else Catholics are be- 
come too easy-going for a second Ravaillac to be bred 
amongst them.” 

“Pardieu! do you think, then, that king George runs 
any risk of assassination?” 

“1 hope not — at least not on political or religious 
grounds. That is almost the only thing that would make 
the dynasty- popular.” 

“But if you are not referring to a violent death, do you 
consider the king’s health precarious ?” 

“I take it he is as healthy as most people — perhaps 
more so, on account of his stupidity.” 

The marshal looked at the duke for some seconds in 
a puzzled way, and finally remarked, 

“I really fail to catch your meaning, duke.” 

“So it seems. But the whole thing is quite simple. 
Let us take things in order. To begin with — king 
George, and his household, and his family, and his mis- 
tresses, are all detested. I daresay the three first might 
be tolerated if it were not for the last. But our people 
cannot stand their kings having ugly mistresses.” 

“That is what we hear, certainly.” 

“Secondly, as the chevalier has not annoyed the Eng- 
lish by gaining victories over them, he is himself not at 
all unpopular.” 

. “If that is a point in his favor, all the better.” 

“Thirdly, king George used to be rather popular over in 
his native country. But now the folks there are left with- 
out their God-given ruler, and there is consequently a 
great deal of dissatisfaction among the Hanoverians.” 

“I was not aware of that.” 

“Yes. Finally, as I daresay you know, the king and 
the prince of Wales hate each other like poison.” 

“So they say.” • 

“Well, as a natural consequence of the king being out 
of favor in Hanover, the prince of Wales is quite anxious 


The “Royal Mary” 265 

to go over there and make himself popular — just to spite 
his father.” 

“I do not see how that is to help us.” 

“Wait a little. It also happens, as you already know, 
that because the king rests entirely upon the Whig party, 
the prince of Wales makes a point of having his little 
court composed almost entirely of Jacobites. In fact, I 
think that five out of six of the chief officers of his house- 
hold are openly of the party of the chevalier. Does all 
this suggest nothing to you?” 

“Not so long as king George is alive.” 

The duke looked leisurely over the park, and helped 
himself to snuff. 

“I daresay, marshal,” he remarked, “you have never 
visited our Bedlam hospital for madmen, at Moor- 
fields?”* 

“No,” replied the wondering marshal. 

“I was there the other day, as one of the governors. 
One of the inmates is a Dutchman, who has been there 
nearly twenty years, and whose insanity had originally 
taken the form of violently and continuously threatening 
the life of William III. because he had abandoned the 
United Provinces to become king of England. It has 
occurred to me that it would be curious if some Hanover- 
ian had the same idea — and carried it out.” 

“It is very unlikely.” 

“Very. Almost as unlikely as that some modern Ravail- 
lac, wishing to get king George out of his way without com- 
promising either the Jacobites or the Roman Catholics, 
should pretend to be a mad Hanoverian and kill the king 
for his absenteeism. But you see, if such an improbable 
thing did occur, nobody would think of blaming the chev- 
alier.” 

The marshal thought over this suggestion for some 
minutes in silence. 

“The idea of assassination is very repugnant to me,” 
he remarked finally. 

“Naturally,” replied the duke, handing his snuff-box. 
“It would be much more satisfactory to shoot, bayonet, 
or blow up in a battle ten thousand miserable devils who 

* Removed to St. George’s Fields in 1814. 


266 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

have nothing to do with the matter, and who don’t know 
either the king or the chevalier from Adam.” 

The marshal shrugged his shoulders. 

“War is war,” he remarked. “In this case, I do not 
see that we should gain anything by having George. II. 
in place of George I. — in spite of his Jacobite house- 
hold.” 

“Nothing at all.” 

“Then why ?” 

“My dear marshal, did I say a word about George 
II. ? Let us keep to business. Suppose that the prince 
of Wales carries out his intention of going to Hanover, 
and that while he is at Osnabriick, or travelling thither, 
the throne becomes vacant. That circumstance might 
suggest a good many ideas to his Jacobite suite.” 

“For example?”. 

“Well, they might withhold the news from him, or 
keep him drunk for a fortnight, while a proclamation in 
his name was forwarded for publication in England.” 

“To announce his accession?” 

“Just the reverse. To state that in order to meet the 
urgent wishes of his beloved countrymen he intended to 
waive his rights to the English crown, and remain simply 
elector of Hanover.” 

“But that would be at once contradicted,” objected the 
marshal. 

“By whom? Your friends in the prince’s household? 
If they could not prevent that, they had better go back 
to the nursery.” 

“That is certainly true.” 

“London could in the meantime have been filled with 
rumors that the prince of Wales did not intend to return 
to England — so that the proclamation would not come 
upon people as a surprise.” 

“And as to the chevalier?” 

“Of course, I am assuming that he would be already 
incognito in London. Then, on receipt of the announce- 
ment of. the prince of Wales’s abdication, the chevalier’s 
friends in parliament and in the privy council would at 
once proclaim him king, and carry matters with a rush. 
In such a case, the commander-in-chief would naturally 
hold himself at the disposal of the sovereign de facto ” 


The “Royal Mary” 267 

The marshal pondered deeply over the string of contin- 
gencies suggested to him, and finally remarked, 

"I must think over the scheme. Certainly it is a daring 
one.” 

“Daring for the mad Hanoverian,” replied the duke. 
“But hardly for anybody else. Someone would of course 
have to speak German fluently.” 

“Father Innis was brought up at Heidelberg,” said 
the marshal, half to himself. “And he is half mad al J 
ready.” 

The duke helped himself to snuff again. 

“I presume,” he remarked, “that if any Hanoverian 
came over here to get an audience of his majesty, in order 
to present a petition for the king’s return, it would be 
quite natural for him to ask my good offices — especially 
if he introduced himself as one of my old soldiers. People 
would hardly expect me to recollect the face of every 
private I have ever commanded. But all these are details. 
I take it the chevalier has little or no money left?” 

“Very little. Of course the queen helps him.” 

“So far as I am concerned, marshal, I should not feel 
very much disposed to place funds in his own hands. But 
if anything had to be done, you yourself could have ten 
or fifteen thousand pounds whenever you liked — more if 
necessary.” 

“Many thanks, my dear uncle. I will turn the matter 
over in my mind, and give you my answer.” 

“When you please, marshal. I think I must get back 
to my study now. There are usually half a dozen people 
waiting to see me at this time about something or other, 
in spite of the distance from town.” 

“Do not let me detain you. I will stroll round the 
gardens, and see you later.” 

The duke went indoors, and entered his study, which 
was a large room at the end of a long corridor, and rather 
shut off from the rest of the house. Mr. Cardonnel, his 
secretary, was sitting at a desk on a side table, and rose 
as the duke entered. 

“A gentleman has been asking to see you,” remarked 
the secretary. “I did not like to interrupt you and the 
marshal, and desired him to wait.” 


268 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“I can see him now. I suppose it is the usual thing — 
a commission for one of his sons, eh?” 

“He did not say,” replied Cardonnel. 

“Who is it?” asked the duke, seating himself at his 
own table. 

“He gave the name of % Richard. Shall you want 
me ?” 

“Hot at present, Cardonnel. Show Mr. Richard in.” 

Cardonnel retired, and presently returned to usher in a 
tall man, whose hair and beetling brows were black, and 
whose nose was curved like the beak of an eagle. He re- 
mained at the door until Cardonnel had withdrawn. 
Then he quickly turned the key in the lock, and faced the 
duke. 

The latter rose from his seat. 

“What are you about, sir?” he demanded sharply. 
“Who are you?” 

“My lord,” replied the visitor, coming forward, “I 
have locked the door in order that we may not be dis- 
turbed. My name is Randolph Dorrington, and I once 
passed under the name of Richard Collins. I do not know 
whether those names suggest any reminiscences to you.” 


The ‘‘Royal Mary 


269 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“vengeance is mine." 

T HE duke’s face did not flinch as he met Dorrington’s 
fixed gaze. But a quick tightening of the lips told 
the visitor that his blow had struck home. For a 
second or two there was perfect silence, and then the duke 
replied, in an uncompromising tone, 

“Sir, I know nothing of you or your various names. 
If you have any business with me, be good enough to state 
it.” 

“My lord, that will not take very long. As it appears 
your memory does not serve you quite as well as one might 
expect, I will venture to refresh it. In May, 1694, my 
friend captain Floyd was the bearer of a packet from 
colonel Sackville to king J ames at St. Germain.” 

“Very possibly, sir.” 

“Captain Floyd, as you are aware, being prevented by 
sudden illness from delivering the packet, accepted my 
offer to be his deputy, and I duly handed the packet over 
to lord Melfort. The same night I was put in the Bas- 
tille, and I remained there, apparently forgotten, until 
December, 1711. No reason was assigned for my arrest, 
and I could guess at none. At last I had an opportunity 
of escaping. Then I learned why I had been buried alive 
for seventeen years. It appeared that the packet I carried 
contained a letter of yours, warning king James of the 
intended expedition under general Talmash against Brest, 
and that I — known to be a close friend of the general’s 
— was suspected of having opened the letter on the way. 
In your interest, and with your concurrence, it was there- 
fore determined to suppress me.” 

“I do not know, sir, who your informant was,” replied 
the duke, still more coldly than before. “But I need 
scarcely say that, as far as I am concerned, this is all pure 
invention,” 


270 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“On the contrary, my lord, the letter was yours, and it 
was written with the double object of betraying your 
master, king William, and of destroying your rival Tal- 
mash.” 

The duke shrugged his shoulders. 

“After having invented your letter, sir,” he replied, 
“it is of course not difficult for you to invent your ex- 
planation of it. One is as imaginary as the other.” 

“Talmash, my lord, was my foster-brother, my dearest 
and closest friend. As for you, he was in your way, and 
you hated him.” 

“A piece of malignant gossip.” 

Dorrington waved his hand contemptuously. 

“I returned to England, my lord,” he went on, “to 
find that my wife had died of a broken heart, leaving 
a child who was born after my arrest. Within a few 
hours of my landing, I was pressed on board one of the 
queeffis ships, and carried off to South America. I have 
only just now been able to return — hence the delay in 
waiting upon you. In the meantime I learn that my 
daughter, bereft of reason, disappeared four years ago, 
and all trace of her is lost.” 

“I fail to see, sir, how I am concerned in these regrettable 
occurrences.” 

“My lord, you are concerned so far, that I am alone in 
the world, without a single tie of family or friendship, 
with nothing to stand between me and my duty — the duty 
which brings me here to-day.” 

“I am not yet much the wiser, sir.” 

“Have you not guessed, my lord, what that duty is?” 

“Not in the least, sir — nor have I any curiosity on the 
subject.” 

“Then I will tell you. It is to do justice on a traitor 
and a murderer.” 

“And who may that be?” 

“Yourself.” 

“I am interested to hear that.” 

“Yes, John Churchill. You, assassin of Talmash— 
you, triple perjurer— you, betrayer of every master to 
whom you have sworn allegiance! But do ’not mistake 
me. It is not to avenge my own wrongs that I am here. 
For myself* I pardon them all. I pardon you my seven- 


The '‘Royal Mary” 


271 


teen years of the Bastille, my exile, my solitude, my 
misery and despair. I pardon you my dead wife, my 
desolate home, the lonely old age which lies before me. 
But for the treachery which sent Talmash to his death, 
you shall pay to the uttermost farthing — a life for a 
life !” 

“Do you threaten me, sir?” 

“Threaten ? No. I judge — I condemn — I execute. If 
you think you can make your peace with Heaven, make 
it — for your hour is come.” 

The duke hesitated, and then decided upon a last at- 
tempt to temporize. 

“I presume, sir,” he said, “that as you seem to be in 
earnest, you are at the same time out of your senses. 
Otherwise, it would be quite easy to show you that the 
letter, upon which you base all your ridiculous charges, 
never had any existence.” 

Dorrington looked gloomily at the duke for a moment 
or two. 

“It is in my pocket,” he replied curtly. 

A faint flush passed over the duke’s impassive face, and 
a gleam of deadly hatred came into his eyes. Dorring- 
ton smiled bitterly. 

“Unfortunately for what passes in your mind, my lord, 
the pocket which contains the letter is not here. I de- 
posited it in London, having arranged that should I not 
return to-day to claim it, twenty thousand copies of it 
shall be printed and distributed through the town to-mor- 
row morning. If I return — after killing you — it shall be 
destroyed. Naturally I hope the latter event will hap- 
pen.” 

The duke set his teeth together. 

“A truce to bravado, sir,” he said hoarsely. “If you 
have anything more to say, say it, and let us finish the 
matter.” 

The walls of the duke’s study were decorated with a 
large number of weapons, arranged in artistic groups, and 
amongst them were rapiers and daggers of various periods. 
Dorrington put his hand on the sw r ord-hilt, and pointed to 
the walls in silence. The duke shrugged his shoulders, 
and made a rapid movement towards the bell-rope. Dor- 
rington instantly drew a pistol, and levelled it. 


272 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Stop !” he cried, peremptorily. “Ring, or call for 
assistance, and I fire.” 

The duke stopped and faced his antagonist with the 
courage which had never in his life deserted him. 

“If you came here, sir,” he said, “to butcher an un- 
armed man, you could have saved time by doing it when 
you first entered the room.” 

Dorrington. again pointed to the walls. 

“You have plenty of weapons there. Take one, second 
Iscariot, and defend your worthless life.” 

The duke looked at the speaker without stirring. Dor- 
rington smiled again. 

“Reassure yourself, my lord,” he said. “As my name 
is not John Churchill, I shall not stab you in the back 
while you are choosing your sword.” 

The duke’s face paled with ungovernable rage, and 
he replied in a trembling voice, 

“Sir, insults do not become a man who, in the prime 
of life, forces a duel upon his senior by twenty years.” 

“My lord, thanks to you I have been nearly twenty 
years without handling a sword. That goes to equalize 
matters.” 

The duke turned without speaking, and selected a ra- 
pier from a group over the fire-place. There was a space 
in front of the two side windows in which the combatants 
could take their stand without requiring to move any of 
the furniture of the room. Dorrington stepped to one end 
of this space, drew his sword, and rested the point on the 
ground. The duke came from the fire-place with the 
weapon he had chosen, and took his place opposite Dor- 
rington. 

“Are you ready, sir?” he said. 

“Quite ready.” 

“Then guard, sir.” 

The two men advanced, and the swords crossed. 

Half a dozen passes were exchanged without result, 
and the combatants disengaged. Then the weapons came 
together again. 

For a moment the two men remained motionless. Then 
Dorrington, watching the face of his adversary, noticed 
a sudden and awful change come over it. The pressure 
of the duke’s blade relaxed, the hilt slipped from his 























. 


. 










- 












































































































The “Royal Mary” 


273 

grasp, and as his body arched backward in a violent con- 
vulsion he sank to the ground, and rolled over on his 
face. 

Dorrington bent forward, astonished and almost terror- 
stricken. 

"It is a fit of falling-sickness,” he said to himself. 

He came nearer, and turned over the prostrate body 
with his foot. The duke’s face was twisted in a fright- 
ful contortion, and his wide-open eyes glared hideously 
upon his enemy. 

Dorrington recognized, with a pang of the bitterest dis- 
appointment, that his long-yearned-for vengeance had 
escaped him, and probably forever. He turned away, 
picked up the duke’s sword, and replaced it over the 
mantel-shelf. Then he sheathed his own blade, unlocked 
the door and pulled the bell-rope. 

The summons was answered by Cardonnel, who looked 
surprised at not seeing the duke. Dorrington pointed 
to the floor at his feet. 

"His grace has, I fear, had some kind of seizure,” he 
said. "Have you a doctor near?” 

Cardonnel came forward hastily, and knelt down by the 
duke’s side. 

"Good heavens !” he ejaculated, "this is shocking. Who 
could have expected such a thing?” 

"Can I be of any assistance?” inquired Dorrington, 
taking up his hat as Cardonnel unloosed the duke’s cravat. 

"If you will be so good as to inform the duchess — you 
will find her in the hall as you pass out of the corridor. 
If not, please send any servant whom you may meet.” 

Dorrington went out, and found the duchess in the hall. 
She was talking to a soldierly-looking man whom Dor- 
rington, from having often seen him earlier in life, 
recognized as the duke of Berwick. 

"Madam,” said Dorrington, answering the duchess’s 
quick and penetrating glance, "Mr. Cardonnel asks me to 
tell you that his grace, while according me the honor of 
an interview, has been taken suddenly ill. He is with 
him now, in his study.” 

The duchess turned hastily to the marshal, and said, 

"You will excuse me, Mr. James?” 


274 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The marshal bowed gravely, and the duchess disap- 
peared down the corridor. 

“Is this attack serious, sir?” asked the marshal, with 
his marked French accent. 

“M. le mayechal,” replied Dorrington in French, look- 
ing the other straight in the face, “I guess your errand 
here. It is useless. His grace’s treasons are ended.” 

He bowed, passed through the hall, and went away. 
******** 

By the evening the duke’s seizure was known in Lon- 
don, and the news was on its way to every capital in 
Europe. It was at once conjectured — and as it turned 
out, correctly — that the duke’s career as a public man was 
virtually closed. 

On the third day after the attack an express from 
London brought the news to M. de Torcy in Paris, to- 
gether with a letter from Dorrington, giving the details 
known only to himself and mentioning the presence, in- 
cognito, of the duke of Berwick. 

The marquis half-uttered an exclamation of astonish- 
ment at his first sight of the signature, and then sud- 
denly recollected that Lavalaye (who was with him) 
knew nothing of Dorrington’s connection with the affair 
at the “Crown and Anchor.” 

“This comes luckily for M. Gwynett,” he said to him- 
self. “I must tell monseigneur and milord Stair that the 
direct proof of his innocence is at last forthcoming. And 
I ought to write, too, to the old uncle at Munich. It 
is only a pity that M. Dorrington did not turn up six 
months ago.” 

He handed the letter to Lavalaye, and remarked, 

“That letter of madame de Melfort’s has been a long 
time on its journey. It is curious that it should reach its 
destination just as the duke seemed to be arranging a 
second Brest treason with M. de Berwick — still more 
curious if it led to this seizure. I told you when we 
sent it, Rene, that it might alter history a little.” 


The “ Royal Mary” 


275 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

AT THE "THREE TUNS." 

T HE “Three Tuns” was a roomy and prosperous tavern 
at Plymouth, reputable enough to be a good deal 
frequented by the officers of the king’s ships, and 
not so exclusive as to prevent its being a resort of the 
captains and master-mariners of humbler craft sailing 
the waters of the Channel. It had a large coffee-room 
and a couple of parlors, opening out of it, which were 
mostly used for the transaction of private business by 
the visitors to the tavern. 

One forenoon, nearly a week after Dorrington’s visit 
to Holywell, the smaller of the two parlors was occupied 
by a gentleman who had been writing a letter, and at 
whose elbow stood a bottle of brandy and a glass. His 
pipe had gone out during the inditing of his epistle, and 
he relit it while glancing over the pages preparatory to 
folding and sealing them. The letter ran: 

“My Hear Yvonne, 

“As you have probably heard little or nothing of me since 
I left Paris, this is to give you a brief account of my 
proceedings so far. 

“First, as to the affair of M. de Vaudemont’s money, 
I will only say now that it missed fire in a most exas- 
perating way — so much so indeed that it fills me with dis- 
gust even to think about it, and I will therefore reserve 
details till we meet. 

“The chevalier, as you probably know, was after all 
afraid to sail from St. Malo, and I accompanied him on 
horseback across the country to Dunkerque, whence we 
embarked for Peterhead in the Royal Mary. 

“I need not say that our voyage was quite useless, and 
we might all just as well have stopped at home. If the 
Jacobite party ever had a chance, which I doubt, it was 


276 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

certainly gone long before we arrived in Scotland, and 
the only utility of the affair for me lay in the chance of 
selling the chevalier to the British government. I had 
managed to set the matter going in a very promising way, 
when just at the wrong moment the chevalier spoiled every- 
thing by taking flight. It placed me in a very awkward 
position, as the English ruffians accused me of betraying 
them instead of the chevalier, and talked of hanging 
me. But I was able to smooth matters over to a certain 
extent by putting into the hands of the duke of Argyle 
(the English commander-in-chief), the largest party of 
the chevalier’s deserted followers. This was a detachment 
which set out to cross the country between Montrose and 
the Clyde, and their capture through my instrumentality 
put me back into favor again. 

"I write this from Plymouth, having arrived here three 
days ago in the same ship which brought all the English 
prisoners who were captured near Glasgow. They will 
be conveyed to London for trial in some other ship, as ours 
grounded on entering the harbor, and will have to lay up 
for repairs. 

“I have employed the time since my arrival here in 
exploring the Dorrington headquarters, with a little 
friendly assistance from the authorities. It is very curious 
that nothing has turned up about mistress Dorrington. 
No one seems to know anything about her. The rents 
are received by the family lawyers in this town, who ap- 
pear to be acting for the London lawyers of squire Wray, 
of Wray Manor, and they either can 'or will say nothing. 
All that I could learn was that the long-missing father 
had been reported to have been seen abroad, in South 
America. But this is probably only a canard. 

“My plans at present are to go to Kent, most likely by 
sea, to make inquiries at Wray, and if nothing transpires 
there, to return to Paris without delay. 

“Your loving brother, Armand.” 

“P.S. — I have called myself de Beauval, simply, since 
leaving Lorraine.” 

Having looked over his letter, the abbe folded it, and 
rang the table-bell for wax. A waiter came, took the 


The “Royal Mary” 


277 


order and went away, leaving the door open. The abbe, 
looking through the doorway into the coffee-room beyond, 
noticed two men -sitting at a side-table while they shared 
a bottle of claret between them. The face of one of 
them seemed familiar to him, and when after a mo- 
menta silence this person spoke to his companion, the 
abbe started in his chair and leaned forward eagerly. 
Then he shrank back, and pulled his hat over his eyes. 

“Sangdieu!” he muttered, “it is that meddler at Wray 
Cottage — the man that was seized by the press-gang. To 
think of his turning up again !” 

This rencontre gave the abbe a good deal of uneasiness. 
Ambrose Gwynett’s companion could hardly have returned 
to England without learning how his capture by the 
press-gang had been turned to account, and if he should 
happen to recognize Gaultier as his fellow-visitor to the 
“Crown and Anchor,” the abbe stood a chance of ex- 
periencing a very bad quarter of an hour. He kept quiet 
and held his letter up before his face till the waiter re- 
turned. Just at this moment the two men finished their 
wine, rose, and left the coffee-room. 

The abbe heaved a sigh of relief, and turned to light 
the wax at the taper which had been placed on the table 
before him. 

“Waiter,” he asked, “do you happen to know either of 
the two gentlemen who were in the coffee-room just 
now ?” 

“Yes, sir. The shorter of the two is Mr. Coverdale — 
he has the contract for horsing the mail-service between 
here and London, sir. Great man for horseflesh, sir.” 

“And the other?” 

“The other is squire Dorrington, sir.” 

The abbe looked at the speaker for a second or two in 
perfect stupefaction. 

“Dorrington?” he finally stammered. “What Dorring- 
ton ?” 

“Dorrington Hall, sir, near Halcombe. Very strange 
case, sir. The gentleman was away from home more than 
twenty years — everybody thought he was dead and buried. 
But iast night he came down here, travelling with Mr. 
Coverdale, and has been to his lawyers here to prove his 


278 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

identity and see after his property at Dorrington. The 
story’s all over the town, sir.” 

The abbe turned over this astonishing news in his mind, 
with the wax held idly between his fingers. 

“What has kept him away, then?” he asked, by way of 
saying something. 

“Well, sir, they say he was a prisoner in France for a 
long time — then he got free, and came over to England. 
But before he reached home, he was nabbed by a press- 
gang and taken on a three years’ voyage.” 

“Why didn’t he write home?” 

“As far as I understand it, sir, there was some ad- 
venture, about a whole boat’s crew, with him amongst them, 
being lost in a fog, and having to maroon — so they call 
it — on some uninhabited island for a couple of years. 
They were given up as lost by the ship they belonged to — 
the Mermaid , king’s ship, sir. Then they got picked off 
by a passing Dutchman, had a long voyage in her, and 
were landed in Holland only two or three weeks back. 

“The Mermaid?” repeated the abbe, picking the word 
out of the stream of the waiter’s gossip. “There is a 
Mermaid in port now — came in this morning. So one 
of the coast-guards told me an hour ago.” 

“Indeed, sir? I heard a salute, but didn’t know what 
ship had come in. Curious, that, sir?” 

“Yes. But, of course, it may not be the same vessel. 
The name is not uncommon.” 

“Very true, sir. Shall I put your letter in the post, 
sir?” 

“Ho. I may have to add a postscript. You can see 
how much longer they are going to he about my dinner.” 

The waiter went off, and the abbe was left to ruminate 
over the new position of matters. 

“This is the very deuce,” he said to himself. “A father- 
in-law was the last thing I bargained for — and this man, 
of all men in the world! So Muriel Dorrington is no 
longer an orphan — not that that would matter much, if 
it was worth while making her one again. But before 
she can be won she has to be found, and this damnable 
father will naturally find her first if she is to he found at 
all. Then they wiil compare notes, and I am done for. 


The Royal Mary” 279 

Certainly I am the most unfortunate devil on the face of 
the earth.” 

While the abbe was deploring his ill-fortune, the waiter 
reappeared and inquired whether the gentleman would be 
served in the parlor or in the coffee-room. 

“This room will do very well,” replied the abbe. “What 
has become of your Mr. Coverdale and his friend the 
squire ?” 

“Just started in a post-chaise for Dorrington Hall, sir, 
and the lawyer with them.” 

“All the better,” said the abbe to himself. “On second 
thoughts,” he remarked aloud, “this parlor is a little stuffy. 
I will dine in the large room.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

The abbe’s meal was duly served in the coffee-room, and 
he disposed of it to the accompaniment of much anxious 
cogitation respecting his next move. His search for a 
judicious programme was unavailing, and he finally de- 
cided to keep within reach of Dorrington Hall until some- 
thing should occur as a guide to his future line of action. 

Presently a party of fresh arrivals entered the coffee- 
room, and filled a couple of tables at the other side of the 
room. Some of the newcomers were evidently townsmen, 
but the rest were naval petty officers and midshipmen. 
Wine was set before them, and conversation set in with 
great hilarity. The waiter came over to Gaultier. 

“You were quite right, sir,” he said. “It is a pity squire 
Dorrington didn’t wait a bit. The ship is the Mermaid, 
sir — come home to pay off after a four years’ cruise round 
the Brazils, the East Indies, and the plantations. Very 
curious coincidence, sir, isn’t it? These are some of the 
young gentlemen from the ship, sir.” 

“I daresay they are glad to get ashore,” remarked the 
abbe, with a glance across the room at the middies, who 
were drinking healths with great vigor and a ceaseless ac- 
companiment of chatter. 

“Ho wonder, sir. Dry land is dry land, after all. Yes, 
sir — coming, sir.” 

This was in reply to a summons from one of the mid- 
shipmen to produce a fresh magnum of port. The bottle 
was brought, and the midshipman, rising in his seat, was 
cheered with vinous enthusiasm by his companions. 


280 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Gentlemen.” he said, “I have a toast to propose, for 
which yon will all please charge. Our fair passengers, 
gentlemen !” 

This suggestion was received with vociferous applause 
by the speaker’s fellow-officers, and one of their townsman 
friends remarked, 

“With all my heart — but who are they?” 

“Who are they?” repeated the middy, laughing. “Well, 
first of all, there is the admirable and time-honored madam 
Kostherne.” 

At this name, the abbe’s glass fell from his fingers to the 
floor, and was shattered into a score of fragments. He 
stared open-mouthed as the speaker went on, 

“Next, the charming and vivacious mistress Avice Wray. 
And last, but truly first, the peerless mistress Muriel Dor- 
rington ! Bumpers, gentlemen, and no heel-taps !” 

The abbe, scarcely able to believe his ears, gazed vacant- 
ly at the revellers while the toast was drunk with cheers 
and laughter, and even the pot-boys looked in with grinning 
faces at the doorway. Then, with an effort, he regained his 
composure, and signed to the head-waiter for a fresh glass. 

“A libation to Fortuna,” he said to himself. “This is 
truly a day of surprises. The luck hasn’t deserted me after 
all.” 

The midshipman’s words could only mean that the three 
ladies named had obtained passages in the Mermaid on her 
return voyage from the North American colonies — then 
usually styled the Plantations. Whether they were still on 
board, or, if not, whither they had betaken themselves, re- 
mained to be learned. But it seemed to the abbe that the 
surprising news was a thing to be turned to account at all 
hazards. He took up his hat and cloak, and rose to leave 
the coffee-room in search of the desired information. 

Passing the open door of the second parlor, he was again 
surprised to see captain Kermode and three of his half- 
brothers just taking their seats round the table, while a 
fifth man, in naval uniform, was standing near the door 
giving an order to the waiter. 

“ Diable !” said the abbe to himself, “this hospitable 
‘Three Tuns’ seems to be a rendezvous for all the world. I 
wonder what brings that crew here ? It is a little cool for 


28 i 


The “ Royal Mary” 

a man who is three-quarters smuggler, and the rest Jaco- 
bite, to be hob-nobbing with a king’s officer.” 

He nodded to the captain, whom he had not seen since 
the Royal Mary conveyed the chevalier and himself to 
Peterhead, and went out of the coffee-room. 

At the door he was met face to face by Matt Kermode, 
who was entering to join the rest of his family in the par- 
lor. An amusing reminiscence of their last meeting on the 
beach near Deal, some four years previously, came into the 
abbe’s mind, and he smiled grimly as Matt touched his 
fore-lock. 

“Good-day, M. Matthew Kermode,” he said. “It is a long 
while since we have seen each other. How was it you were 
not with the rest of your people on the Royal Mary last 
December ?” 

“Your honor, I was looking after our lugger between 
Calais and Sandwich just then.” 

“Ah ! And how have you fared since we arranged that 
little suicide of yours at Deal ? I duly delivered the fare- 
well letter we wrote to your beloved wife, as no doubt you 
know — was she inconsolable at your loss?” 

“She went on awful for a time, your honor — leastways 
so my brothers heard. For myself, I never went within 
twenty miles of the ‘Crown and Anchor’ till she’d left it.” 

“She is not there now, then?” 

“Ko, your honor. After she heard I’d drownded myself, 
her tongue got worse than ever — if it could get worse — and 
it clean frightened all the business away. About a twelve- 
month afterwards she cleared out, and no one has seen her 
since. The neighbors reckoned she went back to her folks 
in Yorkshire.” 

“Let us trust she has gone to await you in Paradise, my 
dear M. Kermode.” 

Matt looked rather dubious at this prospect. 

“Well, your honor,” he remarked, “I don’t wish her any 
harm. But if she makes that port, I reckon I’ll have to 
cruise about outside. The same moorings won’t hold us 
both, neither here nor anywhere else.” 

“Happily there is another alternative for her,” sug- 
gested the abbe genially. 

“I guess not, your honor,” replied Matt, with a despond- 


28 2 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

ent shake of the head. “Old Nick will never have her — 
never !” 

“Parbleu!” said the abbe, as he turned to leave the 
inn, “you are evidently a confirmed pessimist, my good 
friend. Your system of theology is the most inconvenient 
I ever came across. I recommend you to give it up and 
turn Mahommedan.” 

He nodded a farewell, and went off. Matt sighed deep- 
ly, and made his way to the inn parlor. 

Here captain Kermode and the officer, seated at the 
table, had begun to discuss a little matter of business, a*nd 
were passing round a flagon of Hollands to facilitate its 
despatch. 

“We heard of your schooner, captain,” began the lieu- 
tenant of the Mermaid , “from the people of the Grampus , 
just in from the Clyde. It appears they are damaged, and 
have chartered you to take on a batch of the Jacobite pris- 
oners to London.” 

“That's so, your honor,” assented Kermode. <( Royal 
Mary has just landed some claret from Bordeaux, and we're 
for London in ballast. Glad of a job.” 

“All the better. Of course the prisoners are in the hold ?” 

“Certainly, your honor.” 

“Did you see to that?” 

“Not I, your honor. Doesn’t amuse me to glare at a lot 
of poor devils on their way to be scragged. The Grampus's 
folks put 'em on board, and left a corporal’s guard over 
'em.” 

“Well, captain, if the hold takes them all, the point is, 
have you any cabin-space to spare?” 

“Cabins?” 

“Yes, sleeping-cabins — fit for passengers?” 

“Well, there's two — you might say three. My partners 
and I can go forward at a pinch.” 

“I want a passage for three ladies to Sandwich,” said the 
lieutenant. 

“Ladies, is it?” asked the captain dubiously. “Well, if 
they'll put up with what we’ve got — they'd better come and 
see the quarters first. Are they townsfolk, your honor?” 

“No — passengers we’ve brought from Virginia under an 
order from the governor, a friend of theirs. You had better 
send your boat for them. We can’t promise ours, for the 


The “Royal Mary” 283 

men are all over the town. If you’ll wait here, I’ll send 
you word. Is this your usual house-of-call ?” 

“Never was here before,” replied the captain. “The 
‘ Jolly Sailors’ is our regular place. But we’re here, and 
no need to budge.” 

A few words passed on the question of terms, and then 
the officer rose. He paid the score and went out, giving 
half a crown to the waiter. The latter pocketed it with 
surprise and admiration, and remarked to the captain, 

“Lucky missis wasn’t in the way to see that, sir, or I 
should have had to hand it over. Never was such mean- 
ness, I give you my words, sir — and worse than ever since 
gaffer Tregooze died.” 

“Widow?” asked the captain, with a sympathetic wink 
at his half-brother Matt. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the waiter. “Came here promiscuous 
one winter, and married the gaffer. Right under the nose 
of his relations, mind you, and all of them waiting like 
sharks for the old man’s money. Left fifteen hundred 
pounds behind him when he died, and this house into the 
bargain. You should have heard his folks when they found 
they were to get nothing. Ready to cut missis’s throat 
there and then, I do assure you. But it didn’t matter to 
her. Bless you heart ! no — leave her alone for that. Why, 
her tongue ” 

At this moment the waiter appeared to hear the voice of 
authority in the distance, and discreetly vanished. The 
captain poured out a fresh glass of Hollands, and Matt 
went to the coffee-room fire to relight his pipe with a 
cinder. The midshipmen and their friend still kept up 
their noisy merry-making, and the pot-boys were busy at- 
tending to their repeated summonses. 

During a moment’s pause in the racket from the coffee- 
room the captain suddenly pricked up his ears, set down 
his half-raised glass, and turned a startled glance upon his 
companions. 

“What’s that ?” he whispered. 

A voice, whose tones seemed familiar to his ear, could 
be heard somewhere in the back part of the tavern, pour- 
ing a torrent of objurgations upon some of the servants. 
The next instant there was a cry of alarm from the coffee- 
room, and Matt Ivermocle, leaping over two tables amidst 
the crash of flying bottles and the shouts of the surprised 


284 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

revellers rushed madly into the parlor and rolled out of 
sight under a large sofa which stood against the farthest 
wall. 

“What on earth ” began Luke Ivermode. 

“Shut up !” whispered the captain. “It’s her , by the 
Lord!” 

A confirmatory groan came from under the sofa, fol- 
lowed by the piteous appeal, 

“Save me, brother Kit ! save me !” 

“Easier said than done,” growled the captain under his 
breath. “Let's see if the front door's clear.” 

But as the speaker was making a move to navigate the 
intricacies of the coffee-room, the strident voice came 
nearer, the opposite door opened, and the landlady sailed 
in. The captain’s knees trembled beneath him. The 
widow Tregooze was the former madam Matthew Ker- 
mode. 

The landlady had evidently just come in from a walk 
abroad. She wore a portentous bonnet, carried under her 
arm a specimen of the huge whalebone umbrella of the 
period, and dragged behind her, at the end of a string, a 
sour-looking poodle, which sniffed suspiciously at the legs 
of the nearest customers. The landlady swept majestically 
down the room, returning the salutations of some of the 
guests, and pulled up short, in considerable astonishment, 
opposite captain Kermode. 

“Well, captain,” she remarked, with severe ceremony, “I 
hope I see you in good health.” 

“I thank you, marm,” replied the captain. “I’ve nothing 
to complain of. I hope you’re the same.” 

“Pretty well, captain — pretty well. And how are your 
brothers? — your surviving brothers, I should say,” she 
added lugubriously. 

“About the same, marm.” 

The captain hesitated about giving any further informa- 
tion, but finally decided to add, 

“They happen to be here, marm, awaiting to pay thteir 
respects to you.” 

He jerked his thumb towards the parlor, and called out 
to his half-brothers, 

“Here, lads !” 

“Don’t trouble,” interposed the landlady, to the cap- 


The “ Royal Mary” 285 

tain’s great alarm, “I’ll sit down in the parlor a minute, 
and speak to them.” 

She went forward, acknowledging the nervous salutes of 
the three brothers, and took her seat in an arm-chair near 
the parlor door. The dog remained outside, at the full 
length of his tether, to snap at the heels of the passing pot- 
boys. Captain Kermode, concealing his anxiety under an 
impassive countenance, placed a chair opposite the widow, 
and sat down. 

“So you’ve left Deal, marm,” he observed tentatively, 
“and changed your station ?” 

The widow drew herself up. 

“I have, captain — as you say. And a good deal for the 
better. It doesn’t become one to speak ill of the departed, 
or I should say as my late husband ” 

“Which of ’em, marm ?” inquired the captain innocently. 

“My second — your brother, captain,” responded the 
widow, with a certain amount of acrimony. “I must sav 
he treated me shamefully. No man with proper feeling 
would make away with himself so as to give his widow a 
bad name.” 

The captain assumed an expression of sympathy. 

“Was that so, marm?” he asked. 

“Of course it was. What could he expect the neighbors 
to think ?” 

“Very true, marm. I reckon he clean forgot that, lads,” 
added the captain for the benefit of the three brothers. 

“Reckon he did,” murmured Luke dutifully. 

“I hope — mark me, captain, I say I hope — he isn’t suffer- 
ing for it at this moment.” 

At this juncture the captain noticed that one of Matt’s 
boots was protruding from under the sofa in full view of 
the landlady, and the perspiration broke out upon his 
forehead. 

“He is, marni — he is, there’s no doubt,” he gasped, as he 
laboriously averted his gaze from the sofa. 

“Nevertheless, captain,” continued the widow, “I did 
my duty by him in spite of his contrariness. I paid every 
respect to his memory.” 

The captain waved his hand solemnly towards his half- 
brothers. 

“Bear that in mind, lads,” he remarked. “Every re- 
spect to his memory.” 


286 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“I mourned for him twelve months,” said the widow 
virtuously. 

The captain’s thoughts had become absorbed in the 
knotty problem of Matt’s safety, and he only echoed pa- 
thetically, in an absent-minded sort of way, 

“Ay, ay. She mourned for him twelve months.” 

Then he added, looking vaguely round the room for in- 
spiration, 

“Twelve months, mind ye.” 

“I did,” affirmed the widow. “And I got the best crape 
and the best black silk that money could buy. I know my 
duty, if other people don’t.” 

The captain nodded his appreciation of this token of re- 
gard, but said nothing beyond a respectful, 

“Ay, ay, marm.” 

The widow now rose, brought her umbrella to the posi- 
tion of “ground arms,” and curtsied majestically to the 
captain and his relatives by way of terminating the inter- 
view. The poodle took the opportunity of strolling into 
the room, and after inspecting the captain’s calves, waddled 
towards the sofa. The next instant a paroxysm of furious 
barking from the poodle, and a strangled malediction from 
the victim in hiding, drew the widow’s attention to the 
projecting high-lows. 

“Why ! there’s a man under the sofa !” she cried. “Some 
thieving tramp, I’ll be bound. Good dog ! fetch him !” 

The poodle did not want any encouragement to snap 
viciously at the supposed tramp, and the unfortunate Matt, 
not relishing an attack in the rear, twisted himself round 
so as to face his assailant. The captain, with a furtive 
kick at the poodle, endeavored to place himself between its 
mistress and the sofa. But the widow, catching sight of 
the fugitive’s features, pushed the captain aside, and 
stooped down to get a nearer view. What she saw turned 
her face purple with amazement and ‘indignation . 

“Well, I never!” she gasped. “Come out of that, you 
miserable scoundrel !” 

Before the captain could intervene the widow had 
grasped her umbrella by the nozzle, hooked the handle 
under Matt’s waistbelt, and with one vigorous haul landed 
her truant husband in the middle of the floor. 

“So it’s you, is it ?” she panted. 


The “Royal Mary” 


287 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE DIPLOMACY OF CAPTAIN KERMODE. 

N OW that discovery had come, the captain promptly 
decided in his own mind that the only possible de- 
fence for the accused lay in a plea of mistaken 
identity. 

“IPs an off chance,” he said to himself. “But we must 
bluff it. There’s nothing else for it.” 

He cast a glance of warning towards Mark, Luke and 
John, who sat with their eyes glued to his face, and then 
turned to where Matt was lying curled up on the floor in 
a state of complete flaccidity. 

“Get up, Bill,” he ordered peremptorily, “and don’t be 
so blessed shy. The lady won’t eat you. I can’t intro- 
duce you properly while you’re squatting there like a dol- 
lop of putty.” 

Matt was too much crushed to grasp his relative’s tac- 
tics, but he slowly raised himself to a sitting posture, and 
gazed at his boots with an air of hopeless dejection. The 
poodle, at a very emphatic admonition from the captain, 
had retreated growling behind his mistress, and the latter 
was sitting down again to recover breath after her exer- 
tions. 

“Bill !” she echoed scornfully. “Have you christened 
him again, instead of burying him?” 

The captain put on an air of extreme surprise. 

“Marm,” he said, “you make some mistake. This is our 
cousin Bill. We took him in when poor Matt cut his cable, 
being one of the family, and sorter pleasanter to us than 
having a stranger.” 

The widow received this explanation with contemptuous 
scepticism. 

“Rubbish !” she snorted. “You won’t bamboozle me 
that way, captain.” 


2 88 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Bamboozle !” echoed the captain, with the deepest re- 
proach in his tones. “Marm, yon don’t suppose I should 
do such a thing to a lady?” 

“I don’t suppose anything about it,” retorted the widow. 
“That’s Matt. And I’ll thank you to explain how he comes 
here.” 

The captain looked round at the three brothers with an 
effective assumption of good-natured tolerance. 

“She takes him for poor Matt, lads. Curious, isn’t it ? 
Being one of the family, so to speak, reckon there’s some 
sorter likeness.” 

“Like Matt?” put in Luke, thinking that some assist- 
ance was expected of him. “Not a bit.” 

The captain administered a. furtive kick at the speaker 
for his clumsy diplomacy. 

“Oh !” he remarked blandly, “you can’t altogether say 
that, brother Luke. There must be some likeness, or marm 
wouldn’t have been taken by it. I can’t say as I ever no- 
ticed it myself. But I reckon there may be enough to 
strike an outsider. Not in figger, though. Bill here never 
had the figger of poor Matt.” 

“Never,” assented Luke, thinking that he was here at 
all events on safe ground. 

“No, never,” went on the captain. “Matt was a fine fig- 
ger of a man, he was. Bill here was never much to look 
at — was you, Bill? Always had a kinder mangy look, 
marm, had Bill. You can see for yourself, marm, now 
you get another sight of him.” 

The widow looked irresolutely at the figure on the floor, 
and was evidently a little shaken by the captain’s posi- 
tiveness. 

> “Don’t tell me, marm,” proceeded the captain, pursuing 
his advantage, “that a fine woman like you would ever 
have hitched yourself to such a poor stick as Bill here— it 
ain’t in reason.” 

The widow tapped her foot impatiently on the floor. 

“That’s all gammon,” she averred. “If yon isn’t Matt, 
what made him hide under the sofa?” 

“Shyness, marm,” explained the captain promptly. 
“Nothing but shyness— I said so before. Bill’s always 
shy before ladies.” 

This theory failed to commend itself to the widow. 


The “Royal Mary” 


289 

“I don’t believe a word of it/’ she retorted, with return- 
ing conviction. “Take off his coat and turn up his shirt- 
sleeves — I’ll tell you who it is, at first sight.” 

The captain’s heart sank within him, and he turned al- 
most pale under his bronze of fifty years. The proposed 
test would be fatal. Matt had a dozen or more marks upon 
his arms, natural or artificial, any one of which would be 
enough to hang him on, and the captain felt that his diplo- 
macy was unequal to the task of getting rid of them. 

“I don’t think Bill would like that,” he muttered feebly, 
conscious of the weakness of the plea. “He’s terrible shy 
before ladies, is Bill.” 

“He’ll be shyer when he goes before the justices for 
deserting his lawful wife,” replied the widow triumphantly. 

At this prophecy Matt could not repress a groan, and his 
three brothers exchanged glances of despair. They could 
see that the captain was at the bottom of his resources, and 
this meant that all was over. For their brother Kit to 
fail them was the end of the world. 

The captain drew a deep sigh, and looked blankly at the 
floor. Then he suddenly raised his head, and a gleam of 
light came into his eyes. 

“I don’t say but what you’re right, marm,” he remarked, 
in a more cheerful tone. “It’ll settle the matter, and Bill 
must lump it. Only you’ll agree with me, marm, that it’s 
hard on a shy man to be kinder inspected before a roomful 
of people.” 

The captain here jerked his thumb towards the door, 
where in truth some half-dozen inquisitive onlookers had 
gathered to see what was going on. 

“What I say, marm,” he continued, “is this. We’ll clear 
this room of everybody but you and me and Bill, and I’ll 
undertake to satisfy you in the twinkle of a lamb’s tail. I 
can’t say no fairer than that.” 

Before the widow could raise any objection to this pro- 
posal, the captain had signalled to his half-brothers, by a 
comprehensive sweep of the arm, to beat an immediate re- 
treat. They accordingly stumbled out of the room in a 
heap, John closing the door behind him, and the captain 
turned the key in the lock. 

“Get up, Bill, and don’t be an ass,” he remarked curtly. 


290 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“And now, marm, if yon don’t mind, I think it’s time we 
talked a little sense.” 

“I think so, too,” snorted the widow. 

“By sense, marm,” explained the captain, “I mean busi- 
ness. We understand, marm, that you’ve come into a fair- 
ish property by the death of the late lamented Tregooze ?” 

“Mr. Tregooze was comfortably off, certainly,” admit- 
ted the widow, with a toss of her head. 

“And he left it all to his dear wife, as was right and 
proper?” hazarded the captain. 

“Of course he did.” 

The captain heaved a sigh of relief. 

“His dear wife,” repeated the captain meditatively. 
“Th^se. were the words, I make no doubt.” 

“The very words,” assented the widow. 

“I reckon he was too careful of your feelings to men- 
tion names, marm. Naturally he wouldn’t.” 

“No. Why should he?” 

The captain chuckled inwardly. 

“It’s done sometimes, you see, marm. ‘My dear wife so- 
and-so/ I don’t hold with it myself.” 

“There was no occasion,” said the widow. “He had no 
children, and of course his will bequeathed everything to 
his wife.” 

The captain looked steadily at the speaker, and then 
shook his head with a pitying smile. 

“Excuse me, marm,” he said. “But you don’t quite seem 
to understand. The late Tregooze had plenty of relations, 
hadn’t he?” 

“Cousins and so on,” replied the widow. “Nothing 
nearer.” 

“But all blood-relations, marm?” 

“Of course.” 

The captain scratched his chin, and surveyed the widow 
in a fashion that made her begin to feel a little uneasy. 

“Allow me to ask, marm,” he went on, “whether you 
did well at the ‘Crown and Anchor’ ? It was only on lease, 
if I remember right.” 

The widow looked vindictively at Matt. 

“I did well enough,” she said, “till your brother here 
disgraced himself. Then business fell off a good deal, and 


The “Royal Mary” 291 

I lost money — all owing to him. The lease ran out the 
next year, and 1 had to give it up.” 

“Ah !” ejaculated the captain, in a completely satisfied 
tone. “So I take it, marm, you wouldn’t have much in 
the old stocking if it were not for the late Tregooze ?” 

“If I haven’t, captain,” replied the widow tartly, “that 
is neither here or there.” 

“Well — I don’t know,” demurred the captain slowly. 

His tone and expression of face made the widow feel 
more uneasy than before. The captain turned to look at 
Matt, who sat with averted and hang-dog face near the 
door, and then brought his eyes back to the widow. He 
leaned forward, laid his finger against his nose, and asked 
almost in a whisper, 

“Changed your mind about the likeness, marm?” 

“Good gracious ! no,” replied the widow angrily. “You 
must take me for a fool.” 

The captain leaned back in his chair, and tucked his 
thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat. 

“I do, marm,” he remarked severely. “The biggest fool 
I ever met in all my born days. I shouldn’t have be- 
lieved there was such a fool on earth if I hadn’t your own 
word for it.” 

“My own word !” echoed the astonished widow. 

“That’s what I said, marm. If you can find me a big- 
ger fool than a woman who’d chuck away fifteen hundred 
pounds, the ‘Three Tuns,’ and a fine business — and all for 
the sake of him,” with a wave of his hand in the direction 
of Matt — “whv, I’d like to put her in a raree show.” 

“Who talks of chucking away ?” asked the widow. 

“You, marm. Certainly the property will be a fine 
thing for all those cousins that are so fond of you. And 
they may be very deserving folks, for all I know. Lord ! it 
would do one good to see their faces when they hear 
they’re going to get it after all, and you’re to be a pauper. 
I should like to be there, I should.” 

“Captain, have you taken leave of your wits?” asked the 
widow seriously. 

The captain rose, took up his hat, and fetched his stick 
out of the corner. 

“I think we’ve had about enough talk, marm,” he said 
blandly. “You can settle matters as you like — only set- 


292 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

tie ’em one way or the other. If this here fellow is Matt, 
you’re his wife. If you’re his wife, you couldn’t be Tre- 
gooze’s wife. If you were not Tregooze’s wife, every farth- 
ing of his money goes to his blood-relations.” 

The widow fell back in her chair, with her mouth open, 
and her usually rubicund visage quite blanched with the 
shock of the captain’s revelation. 

“It can’t be!” she gasped. 

“Every farthing,” repeated the captain. “And there’s 
bigamy in it as well. I forget whether that’s a hanging 
matter,” he added soothingly, “but I know if it is you’ll 
die game. Me and partners will come and see you turned 
off, just out of respect, you may take your davy. We’re 
always ready to do the fair thing by our friends.” 

The widow was too much staggered by this view of 
things to make any reply, and the captain went on, 

“I’m not much of a marrying man myself, as you know, 
marm. But if any of these cousins of Tregooze’s are de- 
cent-looking women, me and the others wouldn’t mind 
making up to them as soon as they’ve got the property — I 
reckon it would console you to think it hadn’t all gone out 
of the family. I can’t say no fairer than that.” 

He jerked his thumb towards Matt, and added, 

“Of course, you see, marm, I’m talking as if Matt was 
alive. What do you think ? Does Bill here remind you of 
him so much as all that ?” 

This inquiry was accompanied by a wink of infinite 
meaning, and the captain stroked his chin pensively while 
he awaited an answer. 

The widow heaved a profound sigh,- and looked more than 
once at Matt before arriving at her final decision. Then 
she replied, in regretful tones, 

“Perhaps you are right after all, captain. I made a 
great mistake when I took that man for my late husband.” 

“It was a great mistake, marm— for Bill,” assented the 
captain, as he unlocked the door and flung it wide open. 

A glance at his face reassured the three brothers, who 
were sitting at a table near, but they judiciously held their 
peace. The widow flounced past them without speaking, 
and the captain signed to them to come back to the parlor. 
Then he shut the door, sank into a chair, and wiped the 
perspiration from his face with a bandanna handkerchief. 


293 


The “Royal Mary” 

“We’ve weathered the storm, lads/’ he remarked. “But 
it was a tight squeeze. I wouldn’t go through it again for 
a hundred pound.” 

He stowed away his handkerchief, lit his pipe, and went 
on. 

“I shall have to wait for the lieutenant. But you’d 
better get Matt out of here at once, and put him on board. 
He’s about as spry as a drowned puppy, it seems to me.” 

Matt’s condition made this simile appear so little exag- 
gerated that his brothers lost no time in acting on the cap- 
tain’s suggestion, and walked the rescued benedict off be- 
tween them without waiting to learn how the feat of de- 
liverance had been managed. The captain stayed behind 
to await the promised message from the lieutenant of the 
Mermaid. This was forthcoming shortly afterwards, and 
as it included a request that the passengers should be trans- 
ferred to the Royal Mary in the latter’s boat, the captain 
went off to arrange the matter. 

As he walked out of the “Three Tuns” he was met by the 
abbe Gaultier, who forthwith volunteered to give the cap- 
tain his company to the water’s edge. The abbe had 
learned that the passengers were still on board the Mer- 
maid, and it did not appear so far that Dorrington’s re- 
appearance had been made known to them. But something 
had been said about their desiring to reach their Kentish 
home by sea rather than by the fatiguing land journey, 
and the abbe suggested to the captain that he should offer 
the accommodation of the Royal Mary for the purpose. 

* “Thank your honor kindly,” replied the captain, not 
suspecting the abbe’s personal interest in the matter, “but 
the job’s done already. The folks from the Mermaid are 
coming on board as soon as we can send for them.” 

“All the better for you,” remarked the abbe. “I sup- 
pose it won’t prevent you from giving me a passage to Lon- 
don. That was really what I wanted to speak to you 
about.” 

“Don’t see where we can put your honor,” replied the 
captain. “These folks take all the cabins.” 

“The deck-house will do very well for me,” said the 
abbe. “Better, perhaps, as you are having so many stran- 
gers.” 

The captain scratched his head dubiously. 


294 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“That’s about full, too,” he replied. “The corporal’s 
guard bunk there.” 

“What is that ?” asked the abbe. 

“Well, your honor, you see we’ve been partly chartered to 
take some of the prisoners from the Grampus to London, 
and the guard sleeps on deck.” 

The abbe had no particular desire to be within reach of 
recognition by the men he had betrayed, and was rather 
taken aback by the captain’s intelligence. 

“Where are these prisoners, then?” he asked. 

“In the hold, your honor.” 

“Will they come on deck?” 

“Depends on the corporal. He might let them up, one 
or two at a time, for a spell of fresh air.” 

“They are in irons, of course ?” 

“Certainly, your honor.” 

The abbe considered the position of matters for a little, 
and eventually decided that it would be easy for him to 
keep out of sight if occasion arose. 

“The deck-house is pretty roomy,” he remarked. "If 
there is really space for one more to sleep there, I shouldn’t 
mind a squeeze for three or four days.” 

“You’d better come aboard, your honor, and see,” re- 
plied the captain, who never lost a chance of doing busi- 
ness. “Here’s the dinghy.” 

The captain and his companion were rowed on board the 
Royal Mary, and after a little negotiation it was settled 
that the abbe could Le provided with a bunk in the deck- 
house, while sharing the poop-deck and the main cabin with 
the other passengers during the day. 

The schooner’s boat was in the meantime despatched to 
the Mermaid, to fetch away the expected party and their 
belongings. Finding that the Royal Mary would not sail 
until just before dawn the following morning, the abbe 
decided to go ashore again and remain there till after 
nightfall, so as to be able to defer his meeting with the 
Wray party until they were actually out at sea. He re- 
turned about nine o’clock, learned that his fellow- voyagers 
were already in their cabins, and went to the deck-house 
to turn in for the night. 


The “Royal Mary” 


295 


CHAPTEE XXXI. 

OFF PORTLAND BILL. 

D USING the early morning and forenoon the wind 
was fair, and the schooner made sufficiently rapid 
progress to have left the Start far astern. Gaultier 
felt quite sure that if Muriel should learn of her father's 
reappearance while the Royal Mary was within reach of 
Dorrington Hall, she would insist on being landed at 
Halcombe. As the abbe’s chief hope lay in utilizing the 
various opportunities of the voyage to make a good im- 
pression upon Muriel before she met her father, it was 
no part of his programme to shorten their sea-passage 
without occasion. He had therefore decided to delay his 
news until it was quite out of the question to put back 
into Halcombe harbor, and accordingly kept in the deck- 
house or in the bows until the Royal Mary was well on 
her way towards Portland Bill. 

At daybreak it had begun to drizzle, and this was suc- 
ceeded by several hours of heavy rain, which had kept the 
occupants of the cabins from making any appearance. The 
wet morning fell in rather conveniently with the abbe's 
plans, as it saved him from the necessity of seeming to 
avoid his fellow-passengers until it suited him to meet 
them. 

Later on the weather cleared, and the abbe went on to 
the poop, where Luke Kermode was steering, to await de- 
velopments. Presently he heard the door between the 
cabin and the main deck slam with the wind, and two 
ladies made their appearance up the poop-stairs. They 
were Avice Wray and Muriel Dorrington. The former 
was dressed in black. 

It seemed to the abbe that Avice had not changed in the 
least since he last saw her. But although Muriel’s face was 
paler and graver than when they had met at Wray Manor, 
and before the fatal day at Maidstone, to the abbe she was 


296 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

more beautiful than ever. One glance at her profile, as she 
stood against the bulwarks looking towards the invisible 
coastline, was sufficient to revive in its full force the pas- 
sion which had always dominated him in her presence. A 
mist came before his eyes, his pulse beat furiously, and he 
thanked his stars that he had a second or two in which to 
recover his self-possession. He took a letter from his 
pocket, and affected to be reading it while he looked out 
of the corner of his eye at Muriel and her friend. 

After a minute the girls turned to walk towards the 
wheel, and caught sight of the abbe. It was evident that 
they were prepared to find a fellow-passenger on board, for 
Avice made the slightest possible bend of her head as she 
passed near. But there was no trace of recognition in her 
face, and the abbe could see that as far as Avice was con- 
cerned he was completely forgotten. 

He, however, raised his hat, and looked fixedly at Muriel 
as she followed her companion’s example. Here the abbe 
was more lucky. Muriel’s glance of uninterested courtesy 
gave place to one of quick remembrance, and she stopped 
in evident surprise. The abbe put on an expression of 
amazement and gratification, and with another salute 
came forward to pay his respects. 

“Permit me, mesdemoiselles,” he said, “to say that this 
is really a charming surprise for me. I understood that 
the captain had two or three other passengers, but you are 
absolutely the very last persons in the world I should 
have dreamed of meeting.” 

He arranged seats for the two girls, and Avice, who had 
by this time recalled him to her recognition, remarked: 

“Captain Kermode told us a M. de Beauval was on 
board, but we did not associate that name with yourself.” 

“It is one of our family names,” explained the abbe, in, 
a careless tone. “As a matter of fact, my humble share 
in the negotiations which led to the recent peace has made 
my better-known name a little inconvenient to me in this 
country. You are probably aware that the treaty of 
Utrecht is not very popular here, and that most of those 
concerned in making it have come off rather badly. Nat- 
urally one prefers to avoid needless unpleasantness, and I 
therefore travel incognito ” 

“You are doubtless bound for London, M. l’abbe?” 


The “Royal Mary” 297 

■ “In the first instance, mademoiselle. But merely on 
my way to Wray Manor.” 

“Indeed? how is that?” 

“For nothing in the world but to make inquiries — for 
the fourth or fifth time, I may say — about yourself and 
mistress Dorrington. I have just come from Dorrington 
Hall, where I went for the same purpose — quite uselessly, 
as of course you know.” 

The abbe looked at Muriel while saying this, but her 
face expressed nothing beyond a little polite surprise. 
Avice, however, did not scruple to laugh. 

“I am sure we ought to be very much obliged to you,” 
she said. “May one ask the occasion of your solicitude?” 

“Certainly, mademoiselle,” returned the abbe blandly. 
“The occasion was that I particularly wished to see you — 
or rather to see mademoiselle Dorrington. And both of 
you seemed to have utterly disappeared from the face of 
the earth.” 

“We have been paying a long visit — much longer than 
was intended — in Virginia,” explained Avice. “Mistress 
Dorrington joined us there two years ago.” 

“I wish I had known,” said the abbe. “Hot, however, 
that it would have been of much use until recently. Still, 
even a well-grounded report is better than nothing.” 

“What report?” asked Avice. 

“I am speaking of the reports about M. Dorrington,” 
replied the abbe, addressing himself directly to Muriel. 

“My father?” 

“Certainly. I have constantly occupied myself with that 
matter ever since I saw you. You may perhaps recollect 
that when we last met, I suggested that his death was pos- 
sibly still a matter of doubt.” 

A flash of pain across Muriel’s face warned the abbe that 
some associations connected with this reminiscence were 
as vivid as ever. She looked away for a moment, and then 
said, with a little tremor in her voice : 

“You spoke of reports, M. l’abbe. Do you mean recent 
ones ?” 

“Yes — reports that M. Dorrington had been seen in 
South America. But of course all that is of no consequence 
now.” 

“Of no consequence, monsieur ?” 


298 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“None, mademoiselle — seeing that I was on my way to 
Wray Manor at this moment on purpose to communicate 
definite facts to you. That is, if I could find you. I 
hoped to do so, but really I did not expect it. And now I 
have met you in so unhoped-for a manner, I am almost 
afraid to tell you my news.” 

“Bad news, monsieur?” asked Avice, who saw that 
Muriel hesitated to put the same question herself. 

“On the contrary, mademoiselle. It is that M. Dor- 
rington, as I surmised all along, is alive.” 

Muriel clasped her hands together. 

“Alive ! my father alive !” she exclaimed. 

“Alive and well.” 

“Who says so?” 

“I, mademoiselle.” 

“You know it then, monsieur?” 

“I have seen him, mademoiselle.” 

“When? where?” 

“Yesterday, mademoiselle. In Plymouth.” 

Muriel looked incredulously at the abbe. 

“Monsieur,” she said, “you must be mistaken — it is 
impossible 

“I do not think there is any doubt, mademoiselle. M. 
Dorrington is well known. He arrived at Plymouth the 
night before last, with a certain M. Coverdale.” 

“Mr. Coverdale !” echoed the two girls simultaneously. 

“I was told that was the name of his companion. The 
two left for Dorrington Hall in the course of the day.” 

“Oh ! why did I not know before ?” 

The abbe waved his hands sympathetically. 

“Mademoiselle, at all events you know now. And your 
meeting will happily be delayed only a few days. For my- 
self, as soon as I heard of the news, I immediately took a 
passage in this ship for Kent — although I had of course 
only the smallest hope that I should find you at Wray. I 
have made several journeys there already for the purpose 
of seeing you, as I said just now — in order to inform you 
of the earlier reports about M. Dorrington.” 

“That was very kind of you,” said Muriel frankly. “But 
do you know why we have never heard of my father all 
this time?” 

“It appears, mademoiselle, that he was first of all in 


The “Royal Mary” 


299 


prison for many years, and then, after his release or es- 
cape — whichever it was — he was shipwrecked. I believe he 
has only been in England a few days.” 

Muriel turned to Avice, as an idea suddenly struck her, 
and asked: 

“If my father is at Dorrington, Avice, why should I go 
on to Wray? Would not the captain land me at Hal- 
combe or Dartmouth?” 

“We are much too far east, mademoiselle,” interrupted 
the abbe. “And the wind would be dead against us in 
turning back. Weymouth might be practicable, I fancy. 
But it would be a rough journey for you to take across 
country to Dorrington, and scarcely safe either — alone, 
at all events. If you think of doing that, I venture to 
offer my escort as being almost imperative.” 

“That would be troubling you too much, M. l’abbe.” 

The abbe bowed politely. 

“On the contrary, mademoiselle, you will see that the 
further prosecution of the voyage, as far as I am con- 
cerned, is now useless. I was simply a messenger, and I 
have delivered my message. My only business, if you will 
permit it to be so, is to hasten your meeting with your 
father, and I trust you will not refuse any further help I 
can render in that direction.” 

It was difficult to find an excuse for declining so obvi- 
ously reasonable a proposal, and Muriel therefore expressed 
her thanks for the offered escort. The abbe’s hopes rose 
high at the prospect of the uninterrupted tete-a-tete which 
'his plan would afford, and he went off in great elation to 
the captain. That worthy made no objection to the new 
programme, but pointed out that, owing to the thick 
weather, and the late rising of the moon, he could not 
venture to run for Weymouth in the dark, and would 
therefore have to stand off the coast until daybreak. 

The abbe went back to report the captain’s decision to 
the two girls, who had just been joined by madam Ros- 
therne. The good lady could not at first be persuaded to 
believe in the reappearance of the brother whom she had 
supposed to be dead for more than twenty years. But the 
abbe’s story could not well be gainsaid, and she then of- 
fered, to his intense disappointment, to join Muriel in the 
proposed landing at Weymouth. The abbe, hiding his dis- 


300 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

gust, bethought him next of what was due to convention, 
and remarked: 

“I have been remiss, madame, in not inquiring after M. 
Wray. He is not with you, I understand ?” 

Muriel and Avice had just gone out of hearing, and the 
dame replied, 

“You see Avice is in mourning. The squire died about 
two months since. He had an attack of paralysis shortly 
after arriving in Virginia, but we hoped he would recover 
sufficiently to be brought back to England.” 

“You were all of a party?” inquired the abbe. 

“Muriel and I reached Virginia, to join the squire and 
Avice, just after his first seizure, and we were more or less 
obliged to remain until his second attack, which proved 
fatal. I daresay you heard of the shocking end of my 
niece’s engagement to that Mr. Gwynett?” 

“I saw the newspaper accounts of the murder at the 
time,” replied the abbe. 

“For myself,” remarked the dame, “I thought the whole 
affair a good riddance. But my niece was very much af- 
fected by it — in fact, she was not herself for some little 
time afterwards. I took her to live near some distant rela- 
tives of ours in Yorkshire for a while, to see what new 
faces and places would do for her.” 

“The experiment was successful, I am pleased to see.” 

“Hot at all — at least, not at the time. But after some 
months, we were urgently pressed by the Wrays to join 
them during their visit to America, in the hope that a still 
more complete change of scene would be of service to 
Muriel. I am glad to say it proved to be so. She is quite 
recovered now, as you have noticed.” 

The girls returned at this juncture, and the conversation 
turned upon general matters. It was of course obvious 
that madam Rostherne’s curtailment of her voyage would 
involve that of A vice’s also, and the abbe saw that his 
hoped-for opportunities of being alone with Muriel on 
shore were likely to be few and far between. It was there- 
fore necessary to strengthen his position as much as pos- 
sible before the Royal Mary touched land again. Accord- 
ingly he employed all his conversational resources, which 
indeed were fairly extensive, to interest and amuse Muriel 
while she remained outside her cabin, and was so far sue- 


3° i 


The “ Royal Mary” 

cessful that her former antipathy to him remained more 
or less in abeyance. This however arose chiefly from the 
fact that he mustered enough tact and self-control to steer 
clear of anything savoring of sentiment, and especially 
to avoid all reference to by-gone times and matters with 
which Muriel had been in any way connected. 

As the afternoon passed the weather grew rougher, and 
when evening came on the Royal Mary shortened sail in 
order to hold her abreast of Portland Bill till morning. 
The rain, however, kept off, and the two girls remained 
most of the time on the poop-deck. 

Captain Kermode, who had seen very little of his pas- 
sengers when they came on board the night before, was in 
the meanwhile considerably exercised in his mind. The 
first sight of Muriel’s face, when she came on deck in the 
full light of day, had brought vividly to his recollection 
the scene after the execution at Maidstone. On pointing 
her out to his half-brothers, they at once agreed that this 
was without doubt the young lady who had been the subject 
of their commiseration on that occasion. Whatever might 
be her relationship to “the squire,” as they were accustomed 
to style Ambrose Gwynett, it was evidently one of the 
closest, and an uncomfortable conviction possessed the cap- 
tain’s mind that she ought to share in the secret of the 
rescue from the gibbet. It was true that the squire had 
subsequently paid the debt of nature in the harbor of St. 
Malo. But that was a different matter, and the captain 
had a vague impression that amongst “the quality,” it was 
occasionally a matter of considerable importance to the 
survivors whether a man died at one time or at another. 
On the other hand, the heroine of the episode at Maid- 
stone was quite clearly wandering in her mind then, what- 
ever might be the case now, and it was an open question 
whether any illusion to it would be intelligible to her. 

The captain’s indecision would probably have outlasted 
the voyage but for the circumstance that the recognition 
between himself and Muriel turned out to be mutual. 
Towards sunset he came on the poop to relieve Matt at the 
wheel, and found Muriel there alone, the others being 
at the moment dispersed in their several quarters. The 
captain touched his forelock respectfulty, planted him- 


302 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

self behind the wheel, and grasped the handles with his 
usual stolid air. 

Muriel, who had previously only seen him at a distance, 
looked at him for a moment, and then said, 

“Captain Kermode, I think I must have met you be- 
fore.” 

The remark presented itself to the captain in the light of 
an invitation to relieve her mind. He promptly replied, 

“Yes, marm.” 

“Where was it?” 

“I reckon it was at Maidstone, marm. Four years ago 
last February.” 

Muriel turned pale and she looked at the captain with 
dilated eyes. 

“You were there?” she almost whispered. 

“Yes, marm — me and my mates. We saw you. You 
were following the poor gentleman.” 

“You knew it was my ?” 

Muriel stopped, and the break in her voice caused the 
captain 'to wink with a good deal of energy. 

“We guessed, marm,” he replied sympathetically. “But 
that wasn’t the end of the matter. Me and my mates have 
been making up our minds to tell you something. We 
reckon you’ll hold your tongue, and not get us into trouble 
over the job?” 

The captain beckoned Muriel to come a little nearer, 
and, after earnest injunctions to secrecy, narrated the ex- 
ploit of the cross-roads, the rescue of Gwynett from the 
gibbet, and his subsequent death by drowning at St. Malo 
while rowing back to shore from the 'Royal Mary. The cap- 
tain had not lived fifty years without learning the elements 
of discretion, and accordingly said nothing whatever about 
the circumstance that Thekla had been Gwynett’s com- 
panion on the occasion in question. But he emphasized 
the fact that Gwynett had, according to his own account at 
Havre, made more than one journey to England to get 
news of his betrothed, of course without result, and that 
his efforts to learn the fate of his missing companion at 
the “Crown and Anchor” had been equally unsuccessful. 
This unexpected revelation drove all thoughts of her 
father from Muriel’s mind. Her eyes turned instinctively 
towards the dim southern horizon which hid the Breton 


The “Royal Mary*' 


303 


Coast from her view. There lay the scene of the last ca- 
tastrophe to her lover, and she reflected, with the bitterest 
regret, that but for her unexplained absence from Wray, 
this final tragedy need never have befallen him. 

The captain, having told his story, stood silent behind 
his wheel, and cast an occasional glance of dissatisfaction 
at the threatening sky to windward. The corporal and his 
men were relieving each other in their sentry duty over the 
fore-hatch, and two of the Kermodes were on the look-out 
in the bows. The gloom of night came on rapidly, the 
wind was rising, and a faint lurid afterglow gleamed on 
the heaving masses of the southwestern sea. 

“In for a dirty night,” muttered the captain to him- 
self, as he felt some drops of rain upon his face. “You 7 d 
best get under cover, marm,” he added aloud. “There’s 
a bit of a shower coming.” 

Muriel started from her reverie, and looked round. Then 
she laid her hand on the captain’s sleeve. 

“Captain Kermode,” she said, in a low voice, “I shall 
never forget what you did for Ambrose. I thank you all 
from the bottom of my heart. Tell your brothers so 
from me.” 

“Lord, marm,” responded the captain, “nobody could 
have done anything less. “We’re all sorry for both of you, 
marm — you can take your davy on that.” 

Muriel could not trust herself to say any more, but 
turned to leave the poop by the deck staircase. At this 
moment Gaultier came out of the deck-house towards the 
cabin. He was a few steps from the stairs when Muriel, 
who had nearly reached the bottom, lost her balance 
through a sudden and violent lurch of the schooner. Be- 
fore she could grasp the handrail she was flung towards 
the deck, and was saved from a fall only by Gaultier’s 
springing forward and clasping her in his arms. 

The surprise and ecstasy of finding the object of his pas- 
sion actually in his embrace was too much for the abbe’s 
self-control. In the rapture of the moment he completely 
lost his head, and could not refrain from pressing a fer- 
vent kiss upon the lips which were so invitingly close to his 
own. 

“My dearest one !” he murmured. 

Muriel freed herself from his clasp with an energy which 


304 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

made him stagger two or three paces backwards across the 
deck, and faced him with flashing eyes. 

“M. Gaultier,” she panted, ‘you are a ruffian and a 
coward. Never speak tc me again. I look upon your very 
presence as an insult.” 

She turned her back as she spoke, and entered the cabin. 
The abbe drew a deep breath, and looked round. It was 
nearly dark, and no one appeared to have observed them. 

“I must have been tempted of the devil,” he muttered. 
“Of a she-devil, rather. Well, that settles matters, it is 
clear. All is over — unless one gets a chance of strangling 
her. I think I should enjoy that — for the time, at all 
events. Afterwards — perhaps ” 

The abbe went slowly back to the deck-house, emptied 
one of the bottles of brandy he carried amongst his bag- 
gage, and started upon another. 







The “Royal Mary” 


305 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE HOLD OF THE ROYAL MARY. 

I X the pitch-dark hold of the Royal Mary twelve men lay 
in various attitudes upon the floor, ironed together in 
twos and fours. Some of them were asleep, and others, 
leaning against the sheathing, carried on snatches of con- 
versation whenever they could make their voices heard 
above the wash of the bilge-water beneath them and the 
dashing of the waves against the ship’s side. Bread and 
water for forty-eight hours had been furnished to them 
in baskets and cans the previous night. But the demands 
of one or two malcontents for tobacco had been summarily 
disposed of by the information that the guard had none to 
spare. 

Towards evening one of the prisoners, thanks to an open 
knot-hole in the bulkhead which separated the hold from 
the forecastle, noticed a light in the latter sanctuary. He 
was able by vigorous bawling to attract the attention of the 
bearer of the light, who was Luke Kermode. 

“Ay ! ay ! ” replied Luke, when he had found out where 
the hail came from. “What is it ?” 

“We’ve no tobacco,” was the response. “Have you any 
to spare?” 

“No ’bacca!” muttered Luke to himself feelingly. 
“That’s hard lines. Going to be scragged, and not even a 
plug of ’bacca amongst them.” 

He put his mouth to the hole, and shouted, 

“Ay ! ay ! plenty.” 

The voice asked, 

“Can you pass some down here?” 

“Wait, and I’ll see.” 

Luke went on deck, and reported the request to the cap- 
tain, who received it with complete sympathy. 

“Give the poor devils - a pound of pig-tail,” he said. 
“They may never get another chew in this world.” 


306 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Reckon I must speak to the corporal first,” demurred 
Luke. 

“The corporal be hanged,” responded the captain. “Pass 
the twist through the hole in the bulkhead, and hold your 
tongue about it.” 

This manoeuvre was duly effected, and the prisoners, 
whose hands were not fettered, were promptly at work di- 
viding the welcome gift amongst them. More than one 
carried flint and steel, and pipes were soon glowing in the 
darkness. 

It happened, not long after, that a stray chip of dry 
wood was found on the floor, and was cautiously kindled 
by one of the smokers. Its feeble light allowed the interior 
of the hold to be dimly seen, and the faces of the prison- 
ers gleamed pallidly against the black timbers. The holder 
of the burning chip was Noel Wray, and his companion, 
ironed to him by the ankles, was Ambrose Gwynett. 

The latter speedily found a handful more of the chips 
lying in a heap near the side of the ship. 

“These will be useful,” he said to Noel, “seeing we 
haven’t an inch of paper amongst us. If we could only 
find a bit of tarred rope ” 

“There’s enough of that,” replied Noel. “I stumbled 
over a coil when we were first put down here.” 

Two or three chips were lighted, and with their aid the 
coil of rope was soon discovered. Nimble fingers were 
promptly at work untwisting the tarry strands, and before 
long a clumsy sort of torch was ignited. 

“Cover it up at once,” said Gwynett, “or they’ll see it 
from the deck. Take my cloak.” 

Four of the men held the cloak stretched out horizon- 
tally over the light, and the rest of the party made a hur- 
ried search round the floor to see if anything useful could 
be found. Except, however, for a pile of old sails in one 
corner, the hold appeared to be empty. But noticing a stray 
bolt or two of iron at the edge of the heap, Gwynett and 
Noel turned the canvas over. Under it was a heap of old 
iron, marlinspikes, and chain-plates, two or three blocks, 
and a heavy hammer. 

“Nothing of any use to us,” said Noel. “We can’t eat 
them, and we shan’t have a chance of breaking anyone’s 
head with them.” 


The “Royal Mary” 


307 


“Probably not,” replied Gwynett. “But I don’t see why 
we need have these bilboes on our legs any longer. We 
shall be better ready for accidents if we can free ourselves 
with that hammer.” 

The suggestion was acted upon forthwith. Strips of 
their clothing were tucked in thickly between the prison- 
er’s ankles and the shackles, and the padlocks were smashed 
by using the hammer and one of the marlinspikes. Care 
had to be taken to strike the blows only at irregular inter- 
vals, and it took more than half an hour to free the whole 
of the party. Then the torch was blown out in order to 
run no needless risk of discovery, and the prisoners, free 
at all events from the galling restraint of the bilboes, lay 
down again as before. 

“Certainly this is a little more comfortable,” remarked 
Noel to Gwynett, after a prolonged rub at his ankles, sore 
with a week’s confinement in the irons. “But I am afraid 
that is all. It is really a pity, my dear fellow, that you 
have got yourself into such a mess merely for the sake of 
my indifferent carcass.” 

“We’ll see what Avice says about that — if we ever get 
the chance, I don’t despair of it yet. It was unlucky 
those rascals robbed me of my papers as well as my money 
when we were captured — still more that none of them 
could read. Still, unless they are in too much of a hurry 
in London, we shall be able, I hope, to get at lord Stair 
again, to say nothing of the regent. For the other poor 
fellows here, I am afraid there is no chance, worse luck.” 

“As brave a set of men, too, as ever fought in a losing 
cause. And for them to be brought to the gallows by that 
infernal French deserter — really, it puts me in a rage even 
to think of it.” 

“You know nothing of him?” 

“No. He was not with my regiment — he and a few 
stragglers from Graham’s company joined our party while 
I was out foraging, so I missed seeing him. It was just 
before you overtook us. De Beauval, he called himself — 
so Graham’s men said. He seemed to have been intimate 
with the chevalier.” 

“Birds of a feather.” 

There was silence for a few minutes, and then Gwynett 
remarked, 


308 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“We are in for a gale, I fancy. The schooner is begin- 
ning to feel the wind. Let ns hope she is decently sea- 
worthy.” 

As the corporal and his guard had exaggerated their 
official discretion to the point of refusing the captives any 
information about their floating prison, they were so far 
ignorant even of its name. As it happened, none of the 
Kermodes had been seen by Gwynett. 

The straining of the vessel increased as the evening wore 
on. By nine o’clock it was evident that the seamanship of 
the crew would be pretty severely taxed if they were to get 
through the night without disaster. About this time the 
prisoners saw the light reappear in the forecastle, and Noel 
went to the knot-hole to interrogate the bearer. He 
knocked on the bulkhead with a marlinspike, and elicited 
the reply, 

“Ay ! ay!” 

“What ship’s this?” 

“The Royal Mary , of Nantucket.” 

Gwynett heard the name, as repeated by Noel, and start- 
ed from his place. 

“Ask him the captain’s name,” he called to Noel. 

The reply came from the forecastle, 

“Kit Kermode.” 

Noel had of course heard from Gwynett the whole story 
of the Deal rescue. He recollected the captain’s name at 
once, and he called to Gwynett to come to the bulkhead. 

“It’s your obliging friend of the cross-roads,” he said. 
“Had you not better get a word with him ?” 

Gwynett took Noel’s place at the knot-hole, and asked, 

“Are you captain Kermode?” 

“No. I’m his brother.” 

“Which brother ?” 

“Matt.” 

“Where’s the captain ?” 

“At the wheel.” 

Before any further words could be exchanged there was 
a violent crash against the side of the vessel, followed by 
another farther astern. A loud shout summoned Matt on 
deck, and on arriving there he found that the ship’s boat 
had been stove in by a heavy sea. 

During the next few minutes the schooner seemed to be 


3°9 


The “ Royal Mary” 

tossed in every direction, and she then settled down into a 
continuous rolling. The violence of the storm increased 
rapidly, and more than once a sound like an explosion rang 
out above the uproar, announcing that one of the sails had 
been torn to ribbons or blown away. It was not quite dark, 
but the moon only rarely gleamed feebly through the hurry- 
ing scud. 

Presently Matt went to the captain on the poop. His 
face betokened some bad news. 

“Brother Kit,” he announced, “we’ve sprung a leak 
somewhere. There’s six inches of water come in since the 
boat was smashed.” 

“Who’s at the pump?” asked the captain. 

“John and Mark. But we can’t spare two of us — 
reckon you’d better put the soldiers on the job.” 

The captain went to the door of the deck-house and 
looked in. The abbe and the guard were drinking together 
in a very amicable way, and it was evident that the former’s 
stock of brandy had furnished the wherewithal for the 
party’s potations. It will be understood that the abbe’s 
temporary habit of total abstinence had not survived the 
shock which he received on board the Royal Mary at St. 
Malo, and that since that date he had done his best to 
make up for lost time. Having on the present occasion 
brought half a dozen bottles of brandy on hoard with him, 
he was in a position to offer drinks all round, and had 
found the corporal and his men in no way disinclined to 
accept them. When the captain entered the deck-house 
the abbe had reached the mood of sullen taciturnity which 
usually marked with him the advanced stage of a de- 
bauch. Two out of the four men, presumably with 
weaker heads than the others, were already more or less 
drunk, and the others were only sober in comparison with 
them. 

“Corporal,” said the captain, “my mates want a little 
help at the pumps. We’ve a leak somewhere, and we’re too 
short-handed to look after the ship and keep the water 
under at the same time. Will you put your men on? If 
not, I must get some of the prisoners up to help.” 

“Of course we’ll help,” replied the corporal with effu- * 
sion. “Get up, lads, and put yourselves at the captain’s 
orders.” 


310 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The attempt made by two of the guards to execute this 
order was so obviously futile that the captain promptly de- 
clined to be troubled with their services. 

“They’re no good/’ he growled. “How’s your other 
mate ?” 

The third guard got on his feet with difficulty, and the 
corporal followed his example. But the first lurch of the 
ship sent them to the floor again, and as one of them fell 
against Gaultier, he was saluted by a volley of execrations 
from the abbe. 

“This won’t do, corporal,” said the captain contempt- 
uously. “The whole lot of you will only be in the way. 
Some of your lags below must lend a hand. Give me your 
keys — I shall want six at a time.” 

“It’s your responsibility, captain,” acceded the corporal 
from the floor. “You say ship’s in danger, do you ?” 

“That’s what I say.” 

“Very well,” repeated the corporal amiably. “Ship’s in 
danger. Captain calls on his majesty’s officer for assist- 
ance. All right. Here’s the keys.” 

With a good deal of effort he extracted the keys of the 
bilboes from his pocket, and handed them to the captain. 

“Where’s the key of the hatch-bars?” asked the captain 
impatiently. 

These were the fastenings which the ship’s carpenter of 
the Grampus had placed on the hatches as a further meas- 
ure of security, when the prisoners had been transferred to 
the Royal Mary. The abbe looked up with a startled air. 

“What the devil is all this?” he asked angrily. “You 
are not going to let those fellows loose on deck ?” 

“I’m going to put ’em to work,” replied the captain, “if 
you call that letting ’em loose.” 

“Curse me if I’ll have it,” cried the abbe, rising in a 
fury, and throwing discretion to the winds. “The ruffians 
will tear me limb from limb.” 

“Why?” snorted the captain, who had no idea of being 
snubbed on his own deck. 

“That’s my affair,” replied the abbe, recollecting him- 
self a little too late. “To set traitors free is an act of trea- 
son. The corporal deserves hanging for consenting to it.” 

“If you don’t stow your jaw,” retorted the outraged cap- 


The “Royal Mary” 31 1 

tain, “Fll clap you in irons yourself for mutiny. Hand 
over the hatch-bar key, corporal.” 

The corporal had just extracted the key from another 
pocket when a loud shout, emanating from the throats of 
the whole body of prisoners in the hold, made itself heard 
above the roar of the tempest. The captain went out, lay 
down with his ear on the hatch, and kicked it by way of 
signal. 

“Water in the hold!” came out of the depths below. 
“The ship’s filling. Let us out on deck !” 

“Ay ! ay !” replied the captain, at the top of his voice. 

He ran back to the deck-house and found the abbe 
threatening the corporal with unheard-of penalties if he 
permitted the release of the prisoners. The captain’s re- 
newed demand for the key raised the abbe’s rage and fear 
to desperation point. He snatched the key from the shak- 
ing fingers of the corporal, staggered past the captain, and 
flung it far into the sea. 

The captain did not waste time in expressing his bound- 
less indignation at the abbe’s trick, but picked up an axe, 
and set to work to break open the top of the hatch, shout- 
ing to the prisoners that he would throw them the keys of 
their shackles. Matt came up at the same moment to help, 
and the abbe, filled with terror at the impending release 
of his victims and their probable vengeance, turned to seek 
refuge in the poop-cabin. 

The wind was now coming in furious gusts, with inter- 
vals of diminished violence between, while occasional 
flashes of lightning lit up the ship and the sea. Luke Ker- 
mode was still at the wheel, and his brothers Mark and 
John were laboring at the pump. The three ladies had 
hitherto remained in their cabins. But the rapid rise of 
the storm, and the audible disaster to the ship’s boat, had 
roused them to a sense of impending danger, and they had 
all got up and dressed themselves. The sound of the cap- 
tain’s hatchet had further alarmed them, and rather than 
tolerate any further confinement, they had come out upon 
the main deck. But the poop seemed to offer a better pro- 
tection from the showers of spray which were flung across 
the deck, and they were at this moment endeavoring to 
shelter themselves from the greatest force of the gale under 
the weather bulwarks. 


312 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


The abbe saw that the coast was clear and decided to 
seek refuge in the cabin. He stumbled in at the door, 
bolted it behind him, and seated himself on the bench at 
the table. He still carried in one hand the bottle from 
which he had been drinking in the deck-house, and he 
placed it on the table before him with a sigh of relief. 

For a few minutes the sound of the captain’s hatchet 
came at intervals through the din of the storm, and then it 
was drowned in a furious blast. The next instant there 
was a loud report, followed by a tremendous crash and a 
shock which jarred the whole ship from stem to stern. The 
maintopmast, with its yards and sail, had fallen amid- 
ships, crushing the deck-house into splinters, and covering 
the hatches and deck with a mountain of wreckage. 

Two of the guards were killed on the spot, while the 
others were seriously injured. The captain and Matt es- 
caped with a knock-down blow from the loose canvas of 
the topsail, which dashed the former against the bulwarks, 
and sent the axe flying from his hand overboard. He 
picked himself up, and went to help Matt, who was badly 
bruised and shaken. 

“Is there another axe, Matt ?” he shouted in his ear. 

“Ho,” replied Matt. “I lost the head of the other, day 
before yesterday, and forgot to get a new one.” 

“Reckon that settles us,” decided the captain gloomily. 
“I’d better tell those fellows in the hold the worst at once. 
Let’s see how the pumps are.” 

He climbed over the wreckage to Mark and John, and 
learned that the water had made a further gain of four or 
five inches. Then he descended the forecastle and rapped 
on the bulkhead with a marlin spike. Noel was close to 
the knot-hole, and answered the summons. 

“Hoy!” bawled the captain, “I’ve bad news for you. 
The key of the hatch-bar’s lost. That’s why I was chop- 
ping at the hatch before the last smash. But now there’s 
five ton of wreckage jammed across the hatches, and our 
axe has gone overboard. How much water have you in the 
hold?” J 


Any chance of going 


“About a foot on an even keel, 
ashore before we founder?” 

“Can’t say. We must have made- a lot of lee-way, and 
the wind’ ’ n " " 


The “Royal Mary” 313 

and I don’t know within twenty miles where we are — 
that’s the truth. The devil of it is, we’re so short-handed. 
The guard’s knocked to pieces, and we five can’t be all 
pumping.” 

The voice ceased, and the prisoners were left to their own 
imaginings again. Gwynett and Noel leaned against the 
sheathing in their old place, with the water up to theii 
knees, as it was impossible to keep a footing on the upper 
part of the sloping floor. After a time Gwynett remarked, 

“Let us have a light again. We need not trouble our- 
selves about our jailers now.” 

“If the rope is not under water,” said Noel. • 

Luckily the torch of rope had been left high and dry on 
the top of the heap of canvas, and with some considerable 
difficulty it was relighted. This was done quite close to 
the ship’s side, near where Gwynett was leaning. The light 
fell upon the timbers, and lit up two large letters, which 
had been cut deeply into the wood about four feet from the 
floor of the hold. They were the initials 

M. D. 

Gwynett looked at them at first uncomprehendingly. 
Then he started, as a long-forgotten incident flashed into 
his memory, and he bent over to his companion’s ear. 

“Noel,” he said, pointing to the letters, “we are saved !” 

“Saved?” 

“Yes. I’ll get you all out of this hold in two minutes.” 

“What on earth do you mean ?” 

“Between ourselves, my dear fellow, this ship is no more 
the Royal Mary than it is Noah’s Ark. It is the Fleur de 
Lys I have told you about. I cut those letters myself years 
ago, at Calais.” 

“The Fleur de Lys! Then there is that secret door be- 
tween the hold and the lazarette ?” 

“That is it.” 

Gwynett turned to the rest of the prisoners, and said, 

“Every man pick up whatever' weapon he can lay his 
hand upon, and follow me. Forward l” 


3H 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE DECK; OF THE a ROYAL MARY.” 

T HE sound and the shock of the fallen maintopmasthad 
reached the abbe in the cabin. But his wish to know 
what had happened was overcome by his fear that the 
prisoners might by this time have been enabled to come on 
deck, and he therefore preferred to remain in his sanc- 
tuary. In his gloom and disappointment, intensified to 
sullen mania by his potations, the progress of the storm re- 
mained almost forgotten by him, and he was only half 
conscious of the pitching of the vessel and the uproar of the 
elements without. He kept his seat at the table, and ad- 
dressed himself to his bottle. When the latter was at 
length empty, he flung it savagely into the farthest corner 
of the cabin, and sat with his elbows on the table and his 
face resting on his hands. His eyes were fixed on vacancy, 
and from time to time his lips parted to give utterance 
to some disconnected mutterings. A feeble light came 
from the swinging brass lamp suspended from the ceiling 
over the table, and the shadows from the lamp-bars passed 
weirdly backward and forward across the panels of the 
sleeping-cabin partition. 

The abbe sat facing one of the narrow doors in the par- 
tition nearest the stern on the port side. His glaring eyes 
turned unthinkingly to the brass handle of the door, shaped 
in the pattern of a fist holding a bar, and he saw it move 
slowly round. The movement attracted his attention in a 
confused fashion, and he stared at the handle with a cer- 
tain wondering curiosity. 

The door opened, but with no sound that could be heard 
above the roar of the tempest, and a man’s form was seen 
against the pitchy blackness of the recess behind. The 
newcomer stooped slightly to pass under the low door-head, 
and his face was lost in the shadow of his hat. Then his 
head was raised again, the lamplight fell upon his features, 
and Gaultier recognized Ambrose Gwynett. 


The “ Royal Mary” 


3*5 


The surroundings of the cabin faded away from the 
abbess vision. He sat rigid and paralyzed, hearing nothing 
and seeing nothing but the terrible apparition of the man 
he had murdered. 

“That demon again !” he breathed silently to himself. 

A second face came into view alongside Gwynett’ s, and 
the abbe recognized this, too, in its turn. 

“Noel Wray !” he muttered. “ J Twas no affair of his. 
This must be some damnable dream. What ! more phan- 
toms ?” 

Silently the Jacobite prisoners emerged one by one from 
the. darkness of the sleeping-cabin, and formed a group 
round the abbe. Then a murmur of words reached his ear 
as one of the newcomers leaned forward eagerly and pointed 
at him with his finger. 

“The French deserter who betrayed us !” 

A circle of faces, with eyes gleaming hatred and venge- 
ance, were bent upon the abbe as he sat at the table spell- 
bound and powerless, unable even to shrink back from 
the accusing hand. 

Noel, with a start of surprise, recognized the abbe at 
once. 

“Why !” he cried, “it is M. Gaultier!” 

In GwynetFs mind a crowd of vague reminiscences, 
aroused by the sight of the rigid figure before him, were 
struggling to attain form and substance. Then with a 
flash the missing memory returned. 

“I know him now,” he said to Noel. “It is the man of 
the ‘Crown and Anchor/ the scoundrel who set me on fire 
at the presbytery !” 

He turned to the foremost Jacobites, and said, 

“Secure him, my men. I have accounts of my own to 
settle with him afterwards.” 

The abbe, only now beginning to realize that he was 
amongst the living and not the dead, was promptly tied 
hand and foot with a piece of rope, and placed on the floor 
of one of the sleeping-cabins. The other berths were seen 
to be empty, and after unlocking the main cabin-door, the 
party emerged upon the deck of the schooner. 

Captain Kermode had been trying to persuade the three 
ladies to leave the poop and avail themselves of the shelter 
of the cabin. Avice preferred to remain where she was. 


3 1 6 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

But madam Rostherne, who was almost unconscious from 
terror and exposure, allowed Muriel and the captain to as- 
sist her down the staircase to the main deck. 

Before they could reach to the cabin-door it was opened 
from within, and a string of men issued from it. The 
captain, who was supporting madam Kostherne in his 
arms, nearly dropped his burden when his eyes fell upon 
the foremost figure. 

“Lord ha* mercy on us!” he ejaculated in awe-stricken 
tones. “IBs all up, marrn. Our time’s come — nothing for 
it but to say our prayers!” 

A scream died away on Muriel’s lips as she grasped the 
captain’s arm convulsively. 

“What — what is it ?” she gasped. 

“Squire’s ghost, marm,” responded the captain, trem- 
bling. “Come to warn us, marm. Sorter kind of him, isn’t 
it? He was always a good sort, was the squire.” 

For a moment Muriel’s eyes, fixed upon Gwynett’s face 
as it was turned to her in the moonilght, dilated with an 
awful fear. Then, with a wild cry, she bounded forward 
and was clasped in her lover’s arms. 

“Ambrose ! Ambrose !” 

“Good heavens ; you here, Muriel ?” 

“You live! it is you — you, Ambrose?” 

“Yes, sweetheart — I myself.” 

Noel had leaped up the staircase to Avice, whom he saw 
leaning in amazement over the poop-rail, and the captain, 
in ungallant forgetfulness, allowed madam Rostherne to 
sink helplessly to the deck. 

“Well, I’m jiggered !” he ejaculated. “Is it really you, 
squire ?” 

“As you see, captain,” replied Gwynett, extending his 
hand. 

The captain took it rather gingerly. 

“And you’re not dead?” he asked with considerable 
suspicion. “Honor bright?” 

“Not I.” 

“H’m !” muttered the captain. “ ‘Born to be hanged, 
never drown,’ seems a good proverb — it does. And how 
the blazes did you all get out of that hold?” he asked 
suddenly. 

“Explanations had better wait, captain,” replied Gwy- 


The “Royal Mary” 317 

nett. “Let us see to the ship first — mj companions here 
will bear a hand at anything you can put them to.” 

“Ay, ay. They can man the pumps for us, and that’s 
something. You’ll attend to the ladies, squire.” And the 
captain, raising madam Rostherne from the deck, led her 
with some difficulty to the cabin. 

The condition of the vessel was now the paramount con- 
cern of everyone. The Jacobites, at a word from Gwynett 
and Noel, placed themselves under the captain’s orders. A 
strong gang set to work with the utmost vigor at the pumps, 
and the rest assisted in clearing away the wreck of the top- 
mast and heaving it overboard. The two girls were recom- 
mended to remain in the cabin, and madam Rostherne, 
who had somewhat recovered from her faintness, was glad 
to keep to the same shelter. As it happened, the near pres- 
ence of the abbe in durance vile had not been mentioned to 
them, and in the toil and excitement of the efforts to save 
the schooner the circumstance was for the time forgotten. 

It was now long past midnight. The storm had appar- 
ently reached its height, and was, if anything, abating in 
violence. The pumps, worked by a full complement of will- 
ing hands, were beginning to reduce the water to a safer 
level, and the ship was already riding more easily from 
the removal of the load of wreckage on deck. But the 
gleams of lightning and the accompanying thunder grew 
steadily in frequency and nearness, and deluges of spray 
still swept over the decks from the mountainous masses of 
the sea. 

As the night wore on, the wind fell rapidly, and the ship 
rolled and pitched on a comparatively smooth swell. The 
canopy of inky cloud was riven with incessant flashes of 
lightning, and at times the schooner seemed enveloped in 
a network of blinding radiance, while the crash and roll of 
the thunder went on almost without a break. The three 
ladies, less alarmed by .the lightning than they had been 
by the storm, refused to be any longer imprisoned in the 
cabin, and came out again upon the main deck. A place of 
comparative shelter was found for them near the fore- 
castle, and from this -refuge they waited for the long-de- 
sired dawn. 

Gwynett had in the meantime been taking a hand at the 


3 1 8 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

wheel. On being relieved later by the captain, he asked 
him if he could form any idea as to their position. 

“Well, squire,” was the reply, “the wind’s clean gone 
round since ten o’clock. I reckoned then as we might be- a 
dozen miles southwest of Portland Bill. We’ve been drift- 
ing down Channel ever since, and all I can say is, we 
haven’t struck on Start Point yet.” 

“Twice lately I have fancied I saw a headland to the 
north, when the lightning came low on the horizon.” 

“Might be the Start, might be Holt Head,” replied the 
captain. “I reckon you’re as wise as I am, squire, till we 
can see something. What I don’t like is this lightning. 
We’ve a little powder in my cabin, and a dozen kegs in the 
afterhold — and I wish it was on shore or at the bottom of 
the sea.” 

The captain had scarcely spoken when the whole stern of 
the ship was bathed in one vast sheet of blinding light, 
accompanied by so deafening a detonation that for a mo- 
ment half the ship’s company took it for granted the 
schooner had blown up. Two of the Kermodes sprang 
upon the poop, and found the captain lying by the wreck 
of the wheel and binnacle, blackened and unconscious, but 
still breathing. Gwynett had been dashed violently against 
the bulwark and partially stunned, but had otherwise had 
an almost miraculous escape. 

With the exception of a considerable tearing up of the 
poop-deck by the thunderbolt, no damage seemed to have 
been done to the ship. But she was now deprived of her 
steering gear and unmanageable, and could only be allowed 
to drift heavily before the wind. 

Captain Kermode was carried by his brothers to the 
main deck, and Gwynett, who was not long in recovering 
from his fall, superintended the efforts made to restore 
him to consciousness. But in the midst of these a loud 
shout from some of the Jacobites drew attention to a new 
disaster. Volumes of smoke were beginning to rise from 
the poop, and a moment later flames were seen issuing 
from the riven poop-deck. The schooner had been set on 
fire by the lightning. 

The wind was dead astern at this juncture, and the ship 
was promptly enveloped in acrid clouds which made every- 
thing invisible. By the exercise of great dexterity and re- 


The “Royal Mary” 


3 1 9 


source the four brothers succeeded after an interval in 
getting the schooner’s head a little more to the wind, and 
the smoke was thus carried to leeward. The whole cabin 
front was now in a blaze, and the flames, leaping and roar- 
ing, lit up the ship as if it were day. 

Suddenly a voice came from among the Jacobites, 

“Lads, we’ve forgotten the Frenchman !” 

Gwynett started, for the recent turn of events had driven 
the abbe from his recollection. 

“Good heavens !” he cried, “the fellow will be burnt 
alive. We must get him out.” 

A chorus of shouts rose in answer. 

“Not possible, squire ! look at the flames — and he’s 
bound to be done for already, either by the fire, or the 
smoke.” 

“I think they are right,” put in Noel. “The cabin must 
have been full of smoke before it burst out.” 

Gwynett looked round. Evidently no one of the J acobites 
was in the least disposed to run a frightful risk on the re- 
mote chance of saving the man who had betrayed them to 
the gallows. The Kermode brothers might possibly have 
done something at the exhortation of the captain, had he 
been able or willing to suggest an attempt at rescue. But 
he was still unconscious, and none of the brothers made a 
movement. 

“He must be rescued,” cried Gwynett. “But for us, he 
would have escaped easily. Whatever the man may be, we 
have no right to burn him alive. Find me a rope !” 

While Luke Kermode obeyed this order, Gwynett 
bounded to the corner in the bows where Muriel and her 
two companions were crouching under the shelter of the 
bulwarks. In half a dozen words he explained to her the 
frightful position of Gaultier, and the duty cast upon him 
of attempting a rescue. Muriel knew him better than to 
seek to dissuade him, deep as were the wrongs that both 
had suffered at the hands of the imprisoned man, and she 
only clasped him more closely when she received what she 
felt might be his last kiss. 

Then he rushed back to the main deck, and took the 
rope which Luke held out ready for him. 

“My dear fellow,” remonstrated Noel, “it is next door to 
certain death ” 


320 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“It is certain death to leave him there,” returned Gwy- 
nett, “and it was I who ordered him to be bound. Hold 
the rope taut, and if I stay too long pull me back through 
the doorway — that is if the rope lasts long enough.” 

Turning a deaf ear to all protests, Gwynett secured the 
rope round his waist, and put one of the sailors’ clasp- 
knives between his teeth. Then he held his cloak, which 
was soaked with wet, before him as a sort of shield, and 
advanced to the door of the cabin. Seizing an opportunity 
when the flames swept a little to one side, he made a dash 
at the doorway, dropped on his hands and knees with the 
wet cloak completely covering him, and disappeared into 
the cabin. 

Noel and Matt advanced as near as possible to the flames, 
holding the rope taut as Gwynett in his progress drew it 
from between their hands. For a second or two after he 
had vanished into the roaring vortex of smoke and fire the 
rope continued to be pulled forwards. Then the tension 
ceased, and for an interval the two men waited for a sign. 

Presently the rope was slightly dragged, and fell slack 
again. Then there came a couple of sharp tugs. The 
watchers took these as a signal to draw back the rope, which 
was already smoking in the furious heat far outside the 
cabin door. The increased strain showed that a double 
burden was being borne by the rope, and everyone ex- 
pected momentarily that it would be burnt through. Then, 
amidst shouts of relief, a black mass partly on fire was seen 
at the cabin door. That instant the rope parted. But half 
a dozen men sprang forward, and the prostrate form of 
Gwynett, clasping the abbe in his arms, was hauled from 
out of the very edge of the flames. 

A vigorous cheer rang through the air as Gwynett, black- 
ened and almost suffocated, staggered to one knee and 
freed himself from the smouldering cloak which covered 
him. The abbe, who was instantly set loose from his bonds, 
lay partly unconscious or stupefied. But in a couple of 
minutes the cold air and the splash of spray upon his face 
revived him, and he opened his eyes. Then with the aid 
of Luke Kermode he staggered to his feet and looked 
wildly round upon the bystanders. 

Opposite to him, Gwynett was standing supported by 
Muriel and Noel Wray, while around were grouped the ten 







































The “Royal Mary” 321 

Jacobites. He swept the hair back from his forehead, and 
leaned heavily upon Luke Kcrmode. 

“I was in the cabin, suffocating,” he muttered, half to 
himself. “Who saved me?” 

Half a dozen hands pointed to Gwynett. 

The abbe started, and he clutched his throat as his glar- 
ing eyes fixed themselves upon Gwynett. 

“No ! not you !” he gasped. 

“It was I.” 

“Ambrose Gwynett — alive !” 

“I am Ambrose Gwynett.” 

“Then it was you — you — I saw at St. Malo ?” 

“I was at St. Malo.” 

The abbe staggered, and flung his arms aloft with a cry 
of superstitious terror. 

“Four times !” he gasped hoarsely, “four times this 
demon has escaped me ! And now !” 

He flashed round upon Muriel and Gwynett, his fea- 
tures distorted with jealousy and undying hatred, and 
shrieked in his rescuer’s face, 

“What ! to be saved by you ! never — by all the devils ! 
never !” 

He reeled back with a strangled curse, turned suddenly, 
and sprang at a bound in-to the wall of smoke and flame 
that swept round the staircase. A couple of seconds later 
his tall form could be seen on the high poop-deck close to 
the railing, silhouetted in black against the tongues of fire 
that writhed upwards from the burning cabins, and with 
one clenched fist raised with a last imprecation and de- 
fiance. Then, with a wild cry, he flung himself backwards 
into the roaring gulf of flame behind him, and disappeared. 

The next instant a deafening explosion came from the 
captain’s cabin, a spout of fire shot up heavenwards, and 
the poop of the schooner was blown in a thousand frag- 
ments to the winds and the ocean. 


3 22 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

ON SHORE. 

I T was on a Wednesday afternoon that Randolph Dor- 
rington, accompanied by his Plymouth lawyer and 
Coverdale, set out from the “Three Tuns” to return 
to the home which he had not seen for two-and-twenty 
years. 

Through the information furnished by Mr. Wrottesley, 
whom he had visited before calling upon the duke of Marl- 
borough at Holywell, he was now aware of most of the 
events that had followed the supposed murder at the 
“Crown and Anchor.” The respective journeys of both 
Gwynett and Noel Wray to Scotland, in connection with 
the Jacobite rising, were of course known to the Canter- 
bury lawyer. 

Two letters from Gwynett to Dorrington of widely sep- 
arated dates, left in charge of the host of Will’s Coffee 
House, had been duly handed over by the landlord when 
Dorrington visited the tavern on his last arrival in Eng- 
land. It was while receiving them that Coverdale, who 
also used the tavern and happened to be present at the 
time, heard Dorrington’s name mentioned by the land- 
lord. Being a sufficiently uncommon one to suggest fur- 
ther inquiry, it was soon ascertained by Coverdale that the 
newcomer was in truth the long-lost father of whom he 
had heard so much, and he forthwith introduced himself. 

That Dorrington had been Gwy nett’s companion at the 
“Crown and Anchor” he had some time previously learned 
from a casual meeting with Mr. Wrottesley, and he now 
promptly volunteered to use his rather considerable in- 
fluence with the postmaster-general and his other friends 
in the government to obtain a formal pardon for Ambrose 
Gwynett. An invitation to Dorrington Hall had resulted 
from the meeting, and hence the appearance of the two 
gentlemen at the “Three Tuns” as already detailed to the 
reader. 


The “Royal Mary” 


323 


The coast roads of the period being exceedingly indiffer- 
ent, the party from Plymouth had travelled by the Exeter 
mail route as far as Totnes, where they spent the night. 
Early the next morning they resumed their journey by the 
cross-country road to Dorrington Hall, _ and reached it 
in the course of the afternoon of Thursday. 

At the squire’s home an unexpected reception awaited 
him. 

The news of his arrival at Plymouth had come to the 
ears of a Halcombe farmer’s son who happened to be in 
the town on some business, and this youth, returning home 
on horseback on the Wednesday, had spread the surprising 
news all the way from Yealmpton to Kingsbridge. When 
therefore Dorrington’ s carriage and post-horses drove up 
to the Hall, half the population of the district had as- 
sembled to witness the arrival, and the squire was the re- 
cipient of quite an elaborate ovation. This was per- 
haps none the less enthusiastic on account of the mystery 
which had for the last three or four years surrounded the 
affairs of the Wray family, often occupants of the Hall, 
and of the squire’s daughter herself. 

As to this, very littel enlightenment seemed to be forth- 
coming, for neither Wrottesley nor Coverdale had news 
to offer respecting any of the absentees, and the Wray 
family lawyers in London had apparently given no infor- 
mation on the subject to their Plymouth correspondents. 

The member of the latter firm who accompanied Dor- 
rington, and whose name was Tidcombe, was able to point 
out to him the larger number of the actual tenants of the 
manor in the crowd which gathered to meet the squire, and 
these were introduced in due course. Dorrington inquired 
about the remainder of the persons present. 

“Farmers about the district on other estates chiefly,” 
replied Mr. Tidcombe. “Except the sailor-looking fel- 
lows, who are mostly fishermen.” 

“When they are not smugglers,” remarked Dorrington, 
who had not forgotten the early associations of his home. 

“I take it they are usually both,” replied the lawyer. 

“And all of them are wreckers when they get the chance, 
especially since there has been, for so many years, no lord 
of the manor to put in a claim to flotsam and jetsam.” 

* “I nver sued to meddle with that,” said Dorrington, 


324 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“so long as they played no tricks. But once or twice I 
had to show my teeth when the crews were not well treated 
after they managed to get ashore.” 

When the party were under the roof of the Hall, which 
had been made fairly comfortable in anticipation of their 
arrival, inquiries were made about provisions, and on the 
strength of the reply a supper for the manor tenantry was 
forthwith ordered. The evening was accordingly devoted 
to the rough and ready festivities improvised for the oc- 
casion, and at the close of these it was announced that 
on the following morning the squire would receive all 
comers on business connected with their holdings on the 
estate. 

Both Dorrington and the lawyer expected a fairly full 
attendance of tenants in the morning, to make represen- 
tations of one sort or another respecting rentals or tenures. 
They were therefore a good dead surprised when at nine 
o’clock the great Hall was found to be graced by the single 
presence of an old woman, who was deaf and nearly blind 
and had nothing particular to say. An explanation of the 
non-attendance of others was shortly forthcoming in the 
news that a ship was on the rocks not far from Holt Head, 
and that all the able-bodied population of the place had 
gone down to await her breaking up, and the arrival of the 
fragments on shore. 

As Dorrington and his guests had by this time finished 
their breakfast, they decided to ride off to the scene of the 
wreck, which was within easy distance of the Hall, and 
learn if anything had transpired as to the fate of the 
crew. 

On arriving at the rock-bound shore, the wreck, which 
showed signs of having been on fire, was at once visible. 

The blackened hull lay firmly wedged between two rocks, 
separated from the beach by rather more than half a mile 
of breakers, and frequently hidden from the hundred or 
more of spectators by the clouds of spray dashed over it 
by a stiff breeze from the southeast. 

At the moment no one was visible upon the deck. But 
it was said that several persons had been caught sight of 
from time to time, and that they were apparently shelter- 
ing within the forecastle or hold of the vessel. On inquiry 
it appeared that the wreck had been first seen at about 


The “Royal Mary” 325 

eight o’clock that morning, when the tide was within an 
hour of the full. 

It was now ten o’clock, the ebb was running out fast, and 
it was likely that before low tide was reached the ship — 
it if held together so long — would be nearly accessible on 
foot over the sand and bare rocks. 

Dorrington sent back to the Hall for a supply of dry 
clothes, food, and stimulants, and ordered two or three 
vehicles to be in readiness on the beach. 

As the morning passed the wind fell with the ebb of 
the tide, and at noon the spectators could get within a few 
hundred yards of the wreck. A score of people, including 
three women, could be plainly seen upon her decks, and 
this circumstance seemed to create a little dissatisfaction 
among two or three old ’longshoremen who formed a 
group not far from the squire. 

“I recollect that old shark,” said he to Coverdale, point- 
ing at one of the little knot. “There were one or two 
queer stories about his treatment of bodies that came 
ashore — bodies, I mean, that had a certain anjount of life 
in them.” 

“Murdered?” asked Coverdale, lifting his eyebrows. 

“There or thereabouts,” replied Dorrington. “Some of 
these people think it a grievance for anyone to survive a 
wreck loug enough to claim anything. One can’t knock 
it out of their heads that a wreck occurs specially for their 
benefit. But I shall make it my business to see that there 
is no plundering of crew or passengers. Well, Yeo?” he 
called out to the principal subject of his remarks. 

“Morning, squire !” responded the person addressed, in 
a non-committal tone. 

“The crew there look pretty healthy, so far, Yeo ?” 

Yeo uttered a dissatisfied grunt, and turned the quid in 
his cheek. 

“Too many to knock on the head quietly, eh ?” 

The man looked under his brows at the squire, but said 
nothing. 

“And too lively to roll over into a little pool of water, eh. 
Yeo?” 

“Who’s talking of all that?” asked the man sullenly 

"I know who’s thinking of it,” replied the squire. “And 


326 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

it’ll have to stop at thinking, Yeo. Mark that, you and 
your mates there.” 

Yeo and his friends received this remark with an air of 
injured innocence, and presently went about hinting darkly 
that the squire’s much-hailed return was going to be a had 
job for honest people. 

In the meantime, with the fall of the wind and the tide, 
the water around the wreck had become practicable for 
swimmers. A couple of the crew were seen to be about to 
leave the ship, and presently they slipped over the side, to 
make their way with energetic strokes to the nearest point 
of the beach. 

The squire and Coverdale walked their horses into the 
water to meet them, and great was the amazement of the 
former to recognize, in one of the swimmers, his intended 
son-in-law, Ambrose Gwynett. 

But this was nothing to the discovery that his daughter, 
alive and well, was on board the wreck, and in her company 
the sister from whom he had been parted almost since his 
childhood. The news spread amongst the crowd, and a 
tremendous cheer echoed from the cliffs to the distant hull 
on the reefs. 

It was arranged that with the help of hatchets promptly 
furnished by the shoremen, a raft should be made by the 
ship’s crew, on which, without waiting for the arrival of 
boats from Halcombe, the passengers could be landed from 
the wreck. A dozen Halcombe sailors accompanied Gwy- 
nett and Luke Kermode back to the hull to lend a hand 
at the putting together of the raft, and after a very short 
interval the three ladies were by its aid transferred to the 
beach. Dorrington advanced into the sea to meet them, and 
the father and daughter, who had four years before met so 
strangely at Wray Cottage, were by a still stranger fate 
again reunited. 

Avice and Coverdale, meeting for the first time since the 
latter’s departure on the midnight ride to Maidstone, ex- 
changed friendly greetings, and Gwynett warmly tendered 
his thanks to the contractor for his good offices on that 
unfortunate expedition. 

The wind had now sunk to a gentle breeze, the June sun 
shone brightly, and the weather promised to remain fine. 
The Kermodes were still on the wreck, the captain having 















tr 






- 



















































The “Royal Mary” 327 

recovered consciousness, but being still a good deal shaken 
by the effects of the lightning-stroke. 

W hile the ladies were being despatched in a carriage to 
the Hall, Gwynett took Dorrington aside and informed him 
of his discovery that the so-called Royal Mary was in 
reality the Fleur de Lys , and asked his assistance to keep 
the affair secret for a day or two. 

“This business requires a good deal of explanation,” he 
remarked, “and we may have some difficulty in getting any 
at all. But from all I could see in passing through the 
lazarette, the sheathing has never been disturbed since I 
left it, and if so the thirty-two chests of treasure are still 
there — whoever their owner may be.” 

“Did not the explosion expose them to view?” 

“Ho. To all appearance it acted vertically, and the 
sides of the ship are not much affected. In fact, the ex- 
plosion rather helped to put an end to the fire for us, as 
most of the burning timbers were blown into the sea. We 
struck ten minutes afterwards, and a heavy surf broke over 
us till dawn. That and the rain extinguished what was left 
of the flames.” 

“Well, what is to be done now?” 

“We must at all hazards delay the ship being broken 
un by these people till the chests are removed. I take it 
they will look upon the wreck as their legitimate property, 
after the custom of these parts?” 

“Yes. But I daresay I can arrange a delay without 
exciting any suspicion. The chests themselves are the real 
difficulty — we must prevent the slightest idea of their value 
getting about. Unluckily their weight can hardly fail to 
attract attention.” 

Dorrington exchanged a few words with Mr. Tidcombe, 
went back amongst the crowd, and gathered the people in a 
circle around him. 

“My men,” he said, “this ship, the Royal Mary , belongs 
to his majesty the king for this voyage, being chartered by 
his majesty’s servants from Plymouth to London. But it 
is a total wreck, and I, as lord of the manor and justice of 
the peace, am responsible to the owners for their rights. 
In the meantime, you may take whatever comes ashore, and 
after three days I will allow the ship to be broken up. I 
understand there is no cargo except a few boxes of mercury, 


328 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

which are of no use to any of you. But for these boxes 1 
shall be responsible to the owners — that is if they can be got 
ashore — and I must set a guard over the hull till that is 
done. Everything else you shall be welcome to, even if I 
have to buy it myself for you.” 

This speech and the suggested arrangements were re- 
ceived with complete satisfaction, and the squire proceeded 
straightway to swear in half a dozen of the most prominent 
and capable tenants as special constables to keep watch 
and ward over the wreck till further notice. 

The next question that arose had reference to the Jaco- 
bite prisoners. 

Whatever expectations Gwynett and Noel might enter- 
tain of having their presence amongst the rebel forces con- 
doned, this in no way applied to their fellow-captives, and 
neither of them were disposed to assist in handing over 
the unfortunate ten to the hangman. By Gwynett’ s advice 
the prisoners remained for the present wjth their two 
jailers on the wreck, and Dorrington, in order to avoid 
being appealed to for his official assistance by the corporal 
of the guard, returned to the Hall. From there he pres- 
ently sent back to Gwynett a stock of provisions, a bag 
containing thirty pounds in gold and silver, and a small 
keg of spirits. 

These were conveyed on board, and a much-needed meal 
partaken of by those on the wreck. The money was 
secretly distributed amongst the prisoners by Gwynett, 
and the keg was offered to the corporal and his colleague. 

This primitive diplomacy secured all that was desired. 
The corporal had not ventured to ask any assistance from 
the shoremen in securing his prisoners, and was relieved 
at finding the latter made no attempt to escape. He ac- 
cordingly proceeded to do justice to the liquor which was 
so conveniently forthcoming. As a result, the Jacobites, by 
twos and threes, got ashore quite unnoticed. They then 
separated according to the recommendations given them 
by Gwynett, set off on the way to their homes in different 
parts of the country, and were no more seen. 

Later in the day the Kermodes were invited to go to the 
Hall to be accomodated for the night, and took with them 
the two now hopelessly inebriated soldiers. Seeing that the 
forecastle was secure from pillage, the captain carried 


329 


The “Royal Mary” 

ashore with him nothing bnt the ship’s papers, to which 
he always clnng with very much the same feeling that 
binds a regiment to its colors. 

The invitation had arisen out of a discussion between 
the five gentlemen at the Hall as to the circumstances un- 
der which the Fleur de Lys had come to masquerade under 
the name of the Royal Mary , and it seemed likely that a 
certain amount of diplomacy would be needed to extract 
a complete explanation of their share in the transaction 
from the captain and his half-brothers. With this in view, 
some suitable steps for securing the desired result were ar- 
ranged for the following day, and the party retired to rest 
at an early hour. 

Next morning the Kermodes, after being regaled with 
a good breakfast, were told that they would be seen by the 
squire as soon as he was at liberty. Presently they were 
summoned for the purpose, and followed a servant down 
a long stone passage. A heavy oaken door at the end of 
this was unlocked, and the party were ushered into a 
room beyond. A long high-backed bench against a wall 
was pointed out to them, they were requested to be seated, 
and the servant retired, closing the door behind him. 


330 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTEK XXXV. 

THE JUSTICE-ROOM AT DORRIHGTOH. 

T HE captain and his half-brothers looked round the 
room, which had no occupants except themselves, 
and found its aspect very far from genial. 

It was lofty, panelled in black oak, and dimly lit by two 
small windows rather high up in the wall opposite the 
bench. In front of the Kermodes, and under the windows, 
was a raised dais on which stood a table and three chairs 
— the latter high-backed and somewhat elaborately carved. 

On the floor in front of the dais was a smaller table with 
its chair, while before these was a low railing extending 
half across the room, and supported at each end by a thick 
oak newel-post. Each table was furnished with paper, 
writing materials, and a heap of old leather-hound vol- 
umes. 

In the walls to the right and left of the dais were two 
heavy doors, one on each side, the door by which the 
Kermodes had entered being in the wall opposite the dais. 
The room was in fact one which had been used for the 
administration of justice by generations of county magis- 
trates of the house of Dorrington. 

The Kermodes sat for two or three minutes in silence, 
exchanging from time to time curious and not altogether 
satisfied glances. Then the door to the right of the dais 
opened and Dorrington entered, followed by Coverdale and 
the Plymouth lawyer. Both the former took their places 
on the dais, in two of the high-backed chairs, and the law- 
yer seated himself before the smaller table in front of 
them. 

These proceedings, which were watched with profound 
attention by the captain, connected themselves with certain 
reminiscences of his early life, and after a prolonged stare 
at the two figures on fhe dais, he murmured in Matt’s ear, 
“Beaks, Matt ! Beaks, by the Lord !” 


The “Royal Mary” 


33i 


The half-brothers passed this suggestion in a warning 
whisper from one to the other, and sat straight up in their 
places to await developments. 

The lawyer now stood up, with a large sheet of blue 
paper in his hand, and read out from it in a mechanical 
tone, 

“This court, held before Randolph Dorrington and John 
Coverdale, esquires, two of his majesty’s justices of the 
peace for the counties of Devon and York respectively, is 
assembled to inquire into the loss of the schooner known as 
the Royal Mary , chartered by certain of his majesty’s serv- 
ants for a voyage between Plymouth and London, and 
wrecked near Holt Head, in the said county of Devon, on 
the morning of the 6th of June in this year of grace 1716.” 

This exordium relieved the captain’s mind somewhat, and 
he pulled his forelock as the lawyer sat down. 

“That’s all right and proper,” he whispered to Matt, as 
he leaned back and waited with a placid countenance for 
the next stage of the proceedings. 

The two justices put their heads together, and held an 
inaudible conference for a minute. Then Dorrington, in 
tones which struck the captain a little uncomfortably, an- 
nounced, 

“The court decides to postpone this part of the inquiry, 
in order to proceed with the next business.” 

The lawyer rose again with a second paper in his hand. 

“The first count,” he read aloud, “charges Christopher 
Kermode, master mariner, and four others, to wit, Mat- 
thew, Mark, Luke, and John Kermode, with being in un- 
lawful possession of a. certain ship, to wit, the Fleur de 
Lys, formerly of Marseilles.” 

At these words the captain suddenly sat bolt upright, 
uncrossed his legs, and stared with wide-open eyes at the 
lawyer. 

“The second count,” proceeded the latter, “charges the 
said five persons with stealing the said ship at some time 
and place unknown. The third count charges the said 
five persons with piracy on the high seas in connection with 
the said ship Fleur de Lys at some date unknown. The 
fourth count charges the said five persons with having 
falsely, and with intent to defraud the owner of the said 


332 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

ship Fleur de Lys, reported that it had foundered at sea 
in the month of December, 1711.” 

The captain listened to these accusations with a stunned 
expression of countenance. After a pause, he slowly turned 
round to his half-brothers, and found their four pairs of 
eyes fixed upon his own with a look of despairing appeal. 
Then he faced round again, rubbed his hands up and down 
his knees, and muttered in a dazed aside, 

“Well, Fm jiggered !” 

The lawyer put down the paper, settled his gold spec- 
tacles severely on his nose, and asked, 

“Do the prisoners respectively plead guilty or not 
guilty?” 

The captain’s acquaintance with the principles and pro- 
cedure of the criminal law was too limited to suggest any 
want of regularity in what was going on, and he therefore 
took it for granted that the proposed alternative was one 
that could not be evaded. He knew that upon his initia- 
tive would depend the action of his half-brothers, and the 
responsibility of a decision weighed rather heavily upon 
him. He scratched his head in deep thought, and gazed 
more than once at the little windows in the search for in- 
spiration. Finally, after a glance at the four brothers 
which was intended to assure them that he was making 
the best of a very bad job, he cleared his throat, and re- 
plied. 

“We plead not guilty, your worships. But, to tell 
you the truth, I guess we did it all — more or less, as you 
may say.” 

The three inquisitors had some little difficultv in pre- 
serving their solemnity of visage at this point. But, after 
a little pause, Dorrington remarked, 

“Before calling witnesses to prove the charges made 
against you, the court is willing to hear your own account 
of the matters in question — if you are disposed to give one. 
While reminding you that you are not at all bound to 
criminate yourself, the court at the same time informs you 
that a full confession will probably influence it in your 
favor, subject to the requirements of justice.” 

It appeared to the captain that, after making a general 
admission of guilt, inaccuracy of detail would be straining 
at a gnat after swallowing a camel. He therefore decided 


The “Royal Mary” 333 

to make a clean breast of all the matters within his knowl- 
edge. 

“Your honors are welcome to the whole yarn,” he re- 
plied ; adding, modestly, “if your honors won’t find it too 
long.” 

“The court will listen to you,” said Dorrington. “Let 
Mr. Ambrose Gwynett be asked to be present.” 

The lawyer rose, passed out of one of the side doors, and 
returned with Gwynett, who was forthwith invited to oc- 
cupy the third chair on the dais. 

“Proceed with your statement, captain Kermode,” said 
Dorrington. t 

The captain’s memory was sufficiently retentive to en- 
able him to give a fairly correct account of the circum- 
stances under which he had, at the behest of the duke of 
Marlborough, undertaken to navigate the Fleur de Lys 
from Ostend to London, and he brought down his story to 
the point of his arrival at Scheveningen to await the con- 
voy of the Mermaid to England. 

“Whose name was given you as the owner of the Fleur de 
Lys ?” asked Dorrington. 

“Your worship, we never properly knew. If the duke 
told me, it must have gone out of my head at once. But I 
reckon he didn’t. You see when he promised to convoy me 
to London ” 

“Did he offer that, or did you ask?” 

“I asked, your worship.” 

“Go on.” 

“Well, your worship, I took no account of the owner’s 
name, because I expected to be in the duke’s company to 
England, and I reckoned he’d let his friends know when 
to claim the ship. ’Twasn’t as if I could go and fetch 
’em.” 

Dorrington signed to Kermode to wait a moment, and 
whispered aside to Gwynett. 

“Does this throw any light on the question of the treas- 
ure ?” 

“On the contrary, I am more in the dark than before. 
Let him finish his story.” 

“Go on, captain Kermode,” said Dorrington. 

“Well, your Avorship,” resumed the captain, with a little 
more hesitation than he had hitherto showm, “so far I 


334 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

reckon everything was fair and square. Bnt when I got 
back from seeing Mr. Cardonnel at the Hague, and was 
a-sitting at my usual house-of-call — the Trinz van Oranj' 
— and smoking by myself, who should turn up but my four 
half-brothers here.” 

“Ay ! ay !” murmured the four brothers assentingly. 

“Born and bred at Nantucket, your worships, and owners 
of the Royal Mary , schooner. They'd lost the schooner in 
the Channel, and been cast away down the coast with noth- 
ing but what they stood up in.” 

“Nothing,” grunted Matt. 

“Well, your worship, seeing as none of 'em could speak a 
word of any foreign lingo, my first notion was to give 'em 
a passage to London. Then afterwards the notion came 
into my head that the Fleur de Lys was kinder providen- 
tially suited to 'em, and it would be clear waste of a good 
chance to let it slip.” 

At this point it seemed to occur to the captain that the 
ethical side of his proposition required a little bolstering 
up, and he proceeded, 

“You see, your worship, I've sorter dry-nursed these four 
lads since they were babbies, and it was borne in upon me 
as it was my duty to give 'em a fresh start in life again. 
By bad luck, I was in low water myself just then — lost a 
handy little lugger a month afore that — and hadn't a shot 
in the locker.” 

The captain paused, in the hope that his views of family 
duty might elicit some expression of sympathy from the 
court. None, however, was forthcoming, and he resumed 
his narrative with rather a depressed air. 

“To make a long story short, your worship, I got a few 
stores together to do the trick with. One of 'em was a fig- 
gerhead of a kinder angel I found in an old ship-yard, and 
I got the fellow to chop its wings off and clap a crown on 
its head to stand for the Royal Mary. I hocussed some 
drink for the Dutch crew, and they never saw my brothers 
come aboard. We let the Mermaid get out of sight, and 
steered north till next morning. Then we put the Dutchies 
ashore, all as drunk as boiled owls, and started to trans- 
mogrify the Fleur de Lys into the Royal Mary as was lost. 
We put the new figgerhead on, fitted a new pair of head- 
boards with a new name on, and painted her inside and 


The “ Royal Mary” 335 

out a different color. Then we ran into Hamburg, and 
changed her rig from a brig to a schooner.” 

The captain paused a moment, as if trying to recollect 
the next stage of his history, and Matt whispered in his ear. 
The captain nodded, and resumed, 

“Ay, ay. You see, your worship, my brothers here had 
saved their ship’s papers when they were cast away, and 
they served all right for the Fleur de Lys — there was no- 
body to know any difference. Then we put to sea again 
and made for Deal, and I went to London to tell the duke 
as how the Fleur de Lys had caught fire and foundered at 
sea, and all the crew had been saved by my four half- 
brothers on board their own schooner, the Royal Mary of 
Nantucket, and as how they’d put the Dutchmen ashore on 
the Texel.” 

“What did the duke say?” inquired Gwynett rather 
curiously. 

“Very little, squire — ducky there was no lives lost,’ or 
words to that effect.” 

Dorrington exchanged a glance with Gwynett, and then 
nodded to Kermode to go on. 

“Well, your worship, squire Gwynett has seen the 
schooner more nor once, and he knows we’ve been making 
an honest living ever since.” 

“After a fashion, captain Kermode,” remarked Gwynett, 
keeping a serious countenance. “It depends upon the view 
his majesty’s government would take of your business at 
St. Malo last November,” 

“Good Lord, squire !” exclaimed the captain, in rather an 
alarmed tone, “you don’t reckon it’s my business to ask 
questions of my passengers, do you? or get myself into hot 
water by spving out their private concerns?” 

“A good dead depends upon circumstances, captain,” re- 
plied Gwynett gravely. 

“Well, sir,” asked Dorrington, “what next?” 

“That’s about all, your worship — I’ve made a clean 
breast of it. I reckon your worships will not be hard on a 
man as tried to do his dutv to his family. Four good lads 
left without father or mother, and orphans, so to speak.” 

The last phrase of his speech seemed to strike the captain 
as having a certain argumentative value, and he repeated it 
with much emphasis. 


336 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Yes, your worships — orphans, every one of ’em. Look 
at ’em !” and he waved his hand towards the brothers as 
if the fact would be self-evident from their appearance. 

The three gentlemen conferred together, and then Dor- 
rington asked, 

“When you invented this story of the loss of the Fleur de 
Lys, you knew you would most likely be expected to pro- 
duce her papers?” 

“Yes, your worship. Of course I had only what was 
given me at Ostend.” 

“What did you do with them?” 

“Kept ’em, your worship — carefully.” , 

“Where are they ?” 

The captain produced an oil-skin covered package from 
the inside pocket of his pilot-coat, and proceeded to untie 
it. He took a couple of papers from the package, and 
handed them to Dorrington. One of these was the safe- 
conduct written by Marlborough for the captain when at 
Eekeren, and the other was a certificate registering the 
Fleur de Lys as of the port of Ostend. In both documents 
the ship was stated to be owned by Ambrose Gwynett, Brit- 
ish subject. Dorrington handed the papers to Gwynett, re- 
marking in an undertone, 

“This is more puzzling than ever. You appear to be the 
consignee of the treasure as well as owner of the vessel.” 

“That is quite out of the question,” replied Gwynett. 

Dorrington turned to the captain again. 

“You said you knew nothing of the owner of the Fleur 
de Lys ?' 

“Nothing, your worship.” 

“The owner is mentioned in both these papers.” 

“Likely enough, your worship. But I can’t read — none 
of us can.” 

“Why didn’t you ask someone to read the papers for 
you ?” 

“There was never any call for it, your worship. And we 
couldn’t tell whether it mightn’t be awkward. I got my 
orders from the duke, and I reported to the duke. He 
never told me to go to anybody else.” 

As the captain had obviously no more to say, Dorrington 
rose, and addressed the five culprits with magisterial so- 
lemnity. 


The “Royal Mary” 


337 


. “The court, captain Kermode, has listened to your de- 
fence, and taken note of your confession. It amounts vir- 
tually to a plea of guilty, for yourself and your four half- 
brothers, to the several charges in the indictment against 
you. But the law attaches a different penalty to the four 
crimes to which you have confessed, and the court has it in 
its power to choose for which offence you shall receive sen- 
tence. For the crime of priacy upon the high seas the law 
requires that you shall all be hanged, drawn and quar- 
tered. For the offences of stealing and being in unlawful 
possession the penalty is merely that of being hanged. In 
consideration of your full confession, the court wishes to 
deal with you as leniently as possible. It therefore acquits 
you of piracy, and sentences you upon the three minor 
counts.” 

The captain’s eyes and mouth opened wide at this pro- 
nouncement, and he half rose from his seat. 

“I don’t exactly understand, your worship,” he said. 
“Be we found guilty or not guilty?” 

“Guilty of fraud, theft, and of unlawful possession. Not 
guilty of piracy.” 

“And what’s the sentence, your worship ?” 

“To be hanged, merely — not drawn and quartered.” 

The five culprits jumped to their feet simultaneously, 
with horror in their visages. 

“But your worship,” stammered the captain, “it’s all the 
same thing !” 

“It can’t be the same thing,” explained Dorrington, “or 
the law would make a difference.” 

It now began to dawn upon the captain that the pro- 
ceedings lacked something of regularity, and he bethought 
him of his rights as a British subject. 

“But, your worship,” he remonstrated, “this business 
isn’t ship-shape. Where’s your jury ? We can’t be hanged 
without a jury.” 

“Of course you can have a jury if you claim one,” re- 
plied Dorrington. “Only the jury will have to convict you 
of piracy as well as the other matters, and then you’ll be 
drawn and quartered as well as hanged. If you prefer 
that, the court will raise no objection.” 

The captain sank into his seat again, and his gaze wan- 


338 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

dered round the room with an air of disgust beyond the, 
power of words to express. 

“Well, I’m jiggered !” he muttered for the second time. 

Then his eye fell upon Gwynett, and he asked dole- 
fully, 

“Couldn’t you put in a word for us, squire? It’s hard 
lines to be hung. And you know we can’t expect your 
luck — no offence for mentioning it.” 

Gwynett was scarcely able to keep his countenance at 
this delicate allusion on the part of his rescuer. 

“Unfortunately, captain,” he replied, “I am afraid that 
if I do it will be compounding a felony. You see it hap- 
pens that I myself am the owner of the Fleur de Lys.” 

“What’s that?” asked the captain, suddenly waking up 
to this new feature of the case. “The Fleur de Lys belongs 
to you , squire?” 

“Read the ship’s papers, Mr. Clerk,” said Dorrington to 
the lawyer. 

The lawyer read aloud the contents of the Ostend cer- 
tificate and the duke’s safe-conduct. 

“Good Lord !” ejaculated the astonished captain. “And 
to think we never knew !” 

“At the same time, captain,” resumed Gwynett, “I think 
I can see a way out of the difficulty. As the owner of the 
Fleur de Lys it would be my business to prosecute in this 
case. But I have not yet taken that step. These two gen- 
tlemen here can bind me over to prosecute if they choose, 
but I appeal to them not to do so. Of course, if you and 
your relatives go away and brag of the affair, justice will 
have to take its course. But so far, as there is no jury 
present, no one but ourselves will be any the wiser.” 

Dorrington bowed gravely to Gwynett, and remarked, 

“If Mr. Gwynett does not wish to prosecute, Mr. Cover- 
dale and myself have no objection to let the matter drop. 
Mr. Clerk, the prisoners are discharged.” 

“Thank your worship kindly,” exclaimed the captain 
joyfully. The four brothers touched their forelocks with 
an expression of wonder and relief in their countenances. 

“There is no harm, captain Kermode,” added Dorring- 
ton, “in telling you that you owe this leniency on the part 
of the court to the service you once rendered to Mr. Gwy- 


The “Royal Mary” 339 

nett at the cross-roads near Deal — although I am not quite 
sure whether that was not in itself a little illegal/’ 

“The squire never murdered that chap at the ‘Crown and 
Anchor/ I’ll swear/’ said the captain energetically. 

“You are perfectly right, captain,” said Dorrington, 
laughing, “for it happens that I was the chap at the ‘Crown 
and Anchor.’ ” 

The captain looked a little incredulous. 

“Y 0Uj your worship ?” 

“It was Mr. Dorrington, captain,” remarked Gwynett. 
“So you may swear with a safe conscience. But for the 
present, don’t swear outside of this room — everybody is not 
as wise as you are, just yet.” 

The captain looked from Gwynett to Dorrington and 
back again. 

“Well, I’m jiggered !” he soliloquized for the third time. 

The three gentlemen on the dais now rose and prepared 
to leave the room, followed by Mr. Tidcombe. Gwynett 
waited till his companions had passed out, and then took 
the opportunity of explaining to the Kermodes the relation 
in which he stood to Dorrington, and also the means by 
which the identity of the Fleur de Lys with the so-called 
Royal Mary had become known to him. 

“It was small wonder I did not know the ship at St. 
Malo,” he added, “for you had altered her beyond recog- 
nition. But tell me, captain, what did that unfortunate 
Frenchman mean by asking me about St. Malo — just be- 
fore he put an end to himself ?” 

“Why, you saw him there, squire.” 

“Not I.” 

“Certainly you did, squire. He fell into the wherry off 
the ladder, and hurt himself — just before you started to 
row back to the shore.” 

“Was that the man?” asked Gwynett. “I recollect it 
well.” Then he said to himself, 

“He recognized me, evidently, and took me for a ghost. 
It was rather a pity I did not stop to recognize him.” 

“There was one thing, squire,” remarked the captain, 
“me and my mates have been reckoning you ought to be 
told. It was that there Frenchman that tried to drown 
yon in the dinghy the time we’re speaking of, at St. Malo.” 

“Tried to drown me ? How ?” 


340 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Well, squire, after you had sunk in the harbor that 
night, Luke here picked up one of the oars of the dinghy - 
that you’d been rowing in. It had the boat’s plug tied to 
it with a piece of twine, and some of the others saw the 
Frenchman doing something or other to the dinghy just 
before you stepped into it. I reckon he sorter expected 
you’d pull the plug out as soon as you shifted the oars 
to row.” 

“And why?” asked Gwynett, completely at a * loss to 
explain this piece of malignity. 

“Can’t say, squire — guess he had his reasons. And I 

guess his reasons would suit the place he’s gone to, d 

him !” 

The captain pulled his forelock, and took his half- 
brothers otf to follow their own devices on the hull of the 
wreck. 

After a little discussion between Gwynett and Dorring- 
ton, it was agreed that the presence of the treasure on board 
the Fleur de Lys had probably remained altogether unsus- 
pected. An examination of the lazarette about noon proved 
that this must have been the case, for the chests were found 
exactly as they had been placed by Gwynett when first 
taken on board in the harbor of San Lucar. It was de- 
cided to remove them forthwith to the Hall, and in the 
course of the day this was done. The excessive weight of 
the chests was explained by the statement that they con- 
tained mercury, in the form of Spanish cinnabar from Al- 
maden, and thus no suspicion of their actual value was 
aroused. 

The chests were placed for security in the strong-room of 
the Hall, and privately examined by Gwynett and Dor- 
rington. Those of the boxes which it was thought worth 
while to open were found to contain not silver, as Gwynett 
had supposed, but gold Spanish pistoles, and the total 
contents were probably worth a little over a million ster- 
ling. After this examination the cases were reinstated in 
their former condition, and then stowed away in a deep 
recess in the wall of the strong-room, under lock and key. 

The question of the ownership of the treasure was in the 
meantime the subject of earnest discussion between the 
two, and Gwynett expressed his conviction that, despite the 
mystery attaching to the despatch of the Fleur de Lys on 


The “Royal Mary” 341 

her voyage to England from Scheveningen, the- gold must 
still belong of right to the French crown. 

“The gift of the ship to me by the king/’ he remarked 
to Dorrington, “was a mere compliment, and an after- 
thought to boot. There was nothing that could in the 
least suggest this money going with it.” 

“One would suppose the duke was mixed up with it, if 
it were not for his treating the ship as your property en- 
tirely. What do you propose to do ?” 

“It is clear the matter must be brought to the notice of 
the regent. . But I doubt very much whether he will know 
anything about the matter. It is M. de Torcy, if anyone, 
who holds the key to the mystery. I had better write to 
him about it.” 

“Have you a cypher to use in correspondence with him ?” 

“Ho. Why?” 

“It is an awkward thing to write about, if the letter by 
any chance went astray, or was tampered with by his po- 
litical enemies. I suppose he has them, like other folks. 
For myself, I don’t want enterprising people to know that 
there is a million sterling at Dorrington, only waiting to be 
stolen. It is a tempting sum. Apart from that, it is 
possible that M. de Torcy might have a good many ques- 
tions to ask which do not occur to us here.” 

“I suppose you are right. It would be better if I went 
over there about it in person.” 

“I think so — and for more than one reason. We must 
not forget that you are still liable to be hanged as a Jaco- 
bite suspect, if not as my murderer. People are sure to 
talk, and there is no harm in being on the safe side. While 
you are away, we shall most likely put all these matters 
straight for you. Noel's case is simpler, as Coverdale can 
keep him out of sight till things can be arranged. He 
talks of going away to-morrow. By the way, what is to be 
done with your friend, captain Kermode?” 

“I have been thinking of that. Certainly I owe my life 
to him. I should like to buy him another ship — or give 
him say £300 to do it himself. But I am not in funds 
for it just yet.” 

“That is nothing. The lawyers have more savings for 
me than I know what to do with, so take whatever you 
want for the old scoundrel. He amuses me, I confess.” 


342 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

Into the comparing of notes and exchanging of explana- 
tions which occupied at this juncture the various person- 
ages under the roof of Dorrington Hall, it is needless here 
to enter. Suffice it to remark that Gwynett was enabled at 
last to recognize, in Armand Gaultier's passion for Muriel, 
the key to at least three of the abbe's repeated attempts on 
his rival's life. Of the affair at St. Malo no explanation 
could be suggested, and Gwynett remained under the im- 
pression that the outrage must have been intended for 
some other person. 

Within a couple of days of the final disaster to the 
Fleur de Lys, Noel Wray had departed secretly, under an 
assumed name, for Coverdale's place in Yorkshire, the Jac- 
obite prisoners were dispersed far and wide on their return 
to their respective homes, and the corporal had reported to 
his superior officer at Plymouth that his charges had made 
their escape in the confusion attendant upon the, wreck, be- 
fore he had had any opportunity of securing assistance. 

Captain Kermode and his haH-brothers were at the 
same time handed the money for a new schooner to replace 
the original Royal Mary , and went their way rejoicing. It 
was arranged that they should meet Gwynett a week later 
at Sandwich, where their small lugger was lying*, and con- 
vey him to Calais. Thence he proposed to journey to Paris, 
to acquaint M. de Torcy with the recovery of the lost 
million of the Fleur de Lys. 


BOOK IV 


FIAT JUSTITIA 










• 











BOOK IV 


Fiat Justitia 


CHAPTER XXXYI. 

AUGURIES. 

I X the bedroom of Sanson's house in the Rue St. Louis, 
into which the executioner of Paris had once invited 
Gwynett to see little Chariot asleep, a couple of men 
were bending over the bed, in which the child was again 
lying. One of them was Dr. Vidal, the other Sanson him- 
self. Chariot had just swallowed some medicine from a 
spoon, and on a table near were two or three bottles. The 
doctor was examining one of the alcohol thermometers of 
the period (superseded four years later by Fahrenheit's im- 
proved one of mercury), which he had taken from under 
the boy's arm. 

“There is really very little the matter, monsieur," re- 
marked Vidal. “It is a feverish cold, nothing more. The 
wetting you speak of is quite enough to account for that. 
Keep him in bed for three of four days and he will be all 
right." 

“You reassure me greatly, M. le docteur,” replied San- 
son. “I was afraid it was going to be some eruptive fever." 

“Where is the other little fellow?" asked the doctor, 
putting his thermometer into his breast-pocket. 

“I will fetch him, monsieur." 

Sanson went out, and presently returned with little Jus- 
tin, whom the reader has seen in the gardens of Monceaux, 
and whose case had been recommended to Vidal by Gwy- 
nett when he last took his departure from Paris. The 
child was paler and thinner than before, and walked with 
increased feebleness. He came up to the doctor very will- 


346 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

ingly, and the latter, after making his usual examination, 
dismissed him with a smile, and rose to take his departure. 
Sanson accompanied him downstairs to the door. 

“You think there is no hope for the lad, M. le .docteur ?” 
he asked, in a low tone. 

“None,” replied Vidal. “He may live three months. 
Perhaps four, but I doubt it. The decline is proceeding 
very rapidly.” 

“A propos, M. le docteur, have you heard anything of 
that good M. de Starhemberg lately?” 

“Nothing since he left Paris.” 

“If you have occasion to write to him, do me the great 
favor to convey my respects to him, monsieur.” 

“With pleasure. Good evening.” 

Sanson shut the street door, and went upstairs rather 
slowly. 

“It will be a dreadful blow to Chariot,” he soliloquized, 
with parental selfishness. “Luckily, so far, he sees noth- 
ing except that Justin is usually poorly.” 

On the landing he was met by his single servant-of-all- 
work, an elderly woman who was nearly stone deaf, and 
with whom as a result very little conversation could- be 
carried on. She held out a parcel wrapped up rather care- 
fully in a linen cover. 

“This was left here while the doctor was upstairs,” she 
said. 

“Who left it?” added Sanson, in signs. 

The woman replied that the messenger was a stranger 
to her, and retired to the lower regions, while Sanson took 
the parcel into a large empty room on the ground floor, to 
open it. This apartment was one rarely used by the 
household, and contained nothing but a massive oak table 
standing under the high window at the farther end, with 
half a dozen severe-looking chairs round it. The floor of 
the room was three or four steps below the level of the hall 
out of which it opened. 

Sanson untied the parcel at the table, and found its con- 
tents to be a handsome child’s suit of blue velvet, with 
a piece of paper pinned to it on which was written, “For 
Chariot, from Marie Latour.” 

Sanson turned the paper over with a frown. 

“This is a new dodge,” he muttered discontentedly. 


Fiat Justitia 


347 


“How damnably persistent the woman is ! I suppose now 
it will be ‘dear Chariot" every time one sees her — after 
hating him like poison ever since he was born. To say 
nothing of never having seen him, to my knowledge. I 
suppose she must have guessed the size from his age."" 

He folded up the clothes, and put them in the cover 
again, saying to himself, 

“I won"t begin this sort of thing. One can"t very well 
refuse a present for the boy, but it would go against the 
grain to see him wear them. Justin shall have them, poor 
little fallow ! They will please him immensely."" 

He took the parcel and carried it up to Chariot’s room, 
where Justin was playing with some toys at the bedside. 

“Justin,"" he said, “here are some pretty clothes for you. 
Let us see if they are likely to fit you."" 

Justin came up with a flush of pleased surprise on his 
pale face, and felt the pile of the velvet, with curious 
fingers. Sanson tried the length of the coat, and trousers 
against the lad as he stood, and remarked, 

“I fancy they will do, my boy. If they are too wide, old 
Margotin must take them in for you. You can try them 
on now. I am going out and will send her to you."" 

He went down to give the instructions to the old woman, 
put on his hat, and left the house. It was after sunset, 
and the dusk of the twilight was falling over the city. He 
made his way with rather indolent steps towards the Rue 
Beauregard, and stopped in front of the herbalist’s shop 
kept by Marie Latour. Of this, mention has been made 
somewhat earlier in this history, and it need only be added 
that it now bore the legend “Perfumes and Cosmetics"" on 
the sign, and had an air of being well-appointed and pros- 
perous. 

As he pushed open the half-door, it rang a little bell, and 
Marie Latour came into the shop from a door at the back. 
She was richly dressed for a woman of the trading class, 
but her appearance, which had been rather handsome ten 
or twelve months before, had in the interval lost much of 
its attractiveness. Her figure had shrunk away, her face 
was thin and sallow, and her formerly brilliant eyes and 
complexion were dull and faded. But her face brightened 
at the sight of Sanson, and she came forward to meet him 
with an eager smile. 


348 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“You will come into the sitting-room ?” she asked, as §he 
held out her hand in greeting. 

Sanson looked round the shop, which was empty of cus- 
tomers at the time, and seated" himself on a tall stool. 

“I need not do that,” he replied indifferently. “I have 
not time to stop. I came merely to thank you for your 
very obliging present to Chariot.” 

The woman’s face flushed angrily at his tone, and she 
bit her lips as she stood facing him. 

“It is some weeks since you favored me with a visit,” she 
said, with a little unsteadiness in her voice. « 

“Is it? Well, better late than never. You see I am 
much engaged. That did not of course prevent my hasten- 
ing to acknowledge your kindness to my little son.” 

The woman kept her eyes fixed on Sanson, who looked 
everywhere but at his hostess, and remarked, 

“I have been hoping you would bring him to see me, 
ever since you took him from that farm in the country.” 

Sanson frowned as he replied, 

“Yes. I think you said so before. If I did not venture 
to trouble you, it was because you had always made a 
grievance of him. In fact, I rather imagine you detested 
him — being my wife’s son.” 

“If I did, she is here no longer.” 

“True, I have to deplore her loss.” 

“That is nothing new. What is new is your manner to 
me. What have I done? You are false, or you are be- 
ginning to be false — which is it ?” 

The woman’s voice trembled with suppressed rage, and 
her fingers closed and unclosed spasmodically as she leaned 
against the counter opposite Sanson. 

“For a year past,” she went on, “ you have had the air of 
tolerating me. For the last six months you have barely 
tolerated me. What is the reason? Is it some other 
woman ?” 

Sanson submited resignedly to this catechism, and re- 
plied in a bored tone, 

“I don’t think so. At least, no particular woman. I 
adore the sex, as you know. I always did.” 

“I have seen you more than once with women. Is it one 
of them?” 

Sanson smiled a self-satisfied smile. 


Fiat Justitia 


349 


“Really,” he replied, “I don’t recollect. It is no crime, I 
believe, to be popular with the ladies. If it is, I cannot 
help it.” 

The woman stamped her foot on the floor. 

“All that is nothing but prevarication. You are tired of 
me. Confess it ! if you are not too cowardly ” 

Sanson shrugged his shoulders impatiently. 

“Don’t say cowardly,” he remonstrated. “Considerate 
is a better word.” 

“Then you do confess?” 

“Confess what?” 

“That I no longer please you.” 

Sanson brought his eyes round to the speaker, and cast 
a cursory glance over her. 

“Possibly you are right,” he remarked in a dubious tone. 
“I have not given the subject any close consideration.” 

“Tell me the truth.” 

“One never tells the truth to women — it is in bad taste.” 

“Be it so. Nevertheless, tell me.” 

Sanson shrugged his shoulders again. 

“I think I will say good evening,” he suggested. “Our 
conversation seems to be getting unsympathetic.” 

He made a movement to rise from the stool, but the 
woman advanced and stood over him. 

“You are tired of me,” she insisted. 

“Very well, if you say so.” 

“Why?” 

“Why, indeed? Only if you provide facts, my dear 
Marie, you must also provide explanations.” 

“Four years ago you promised to love me always.” 

“Four years ago ! and you grumble ! Four years is a 
small eternity. Besides, four years ago things were dif- 
ferent.” 

“What has changed ? am I different ?” 

“Certainly you are not quite the same.” 

“And of course you are the same?” 

“I admire the same things. That is where my constancy 
shows itself. No one ever accused me of getting tired of 
youth and beauty.” 

“You are brutal, monsieur.” 

“On the contrary, my dear Marie. I never told you I 
admired you because you were old and ugly — quite the re- 


350 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

verse. I could not admire you on those grounds even now. 
Nevertheless, as a man of taste, which I have always been, 

I cannot affect any rapturous desire to lower my standard.” 

“Say at once that you find me less young-looking, less 
handsome, and that your fickle admiration has gone else- 
where.” 

Sanson crossed his legs, and looked round the room with 
a wearied air. 

“I don’t know that I can improve on your way of putting 
it,” he said. "Except that I protest against the word fickle. 
It does me injustice, as I suggested before.” 

The woman seemed to force herself to be silent for a 
second or two. Her breast heaved, and she drew her breath 
hurriedly. Then she remarked, in a quieter tone, 

"The child has something to do with it, I know. It was 
not my fault that I could not fall down and worship it, as 
you do. Had I been its mother, as I ought to have 
been ” 

"Pooh !” interrupted Sanson roughly. "Are we to begin 
all. that over again ?” 

"No. But why should you keep me from him, or him 
from me, now ?” 

"Because things are quite well as they are. He is no 
concern of yours — thanking you at the same time for your 
very charming present. Let us say no more about him.” 

"Nor about myself?” 

"Not if it involves any acrimonious discussion.” 

At this moment a carriage drove up to the shop, and a 
footman let down the steps. Sanson seized the opportunity 
to make his escape, and after a hurried adieu to the angry 
Latour he passed out of the door. 

When he reached the street he noticed that a second 
carriage, of rather shabby appearance, and evidently hired, 
was just drawing up a few yards behind the nearer one. 
It was nearly dusk, and he saw nothing of the occupant 
of the first vehicle. But from the window of the second 
a woman’s head was put forth, in order to see why the 
carriage had pulled up short of the shop-door. Her face, 
partly muffled in a wrap, was close to Sanson’s as he passed, 
and the splendor of its beauty nearly took his breath 
away. 

He stopped involuntarily, and could not forbear to stare 


Fiat Justitia 


35i 


open-eyed at the entrancing vision nntil the woman, be- 
coming aware of his gaze, threw herself back into the 
shadow with an impatient exclamation. At the same mo- 
ment the driver of the vehicle got down, and came forward 
to ask for instrnctions. 

“Wait,” was the reply. 

Sanson was a good deal disappointed at this decision. 
He looked round, but saw no convenient place to which 
he could retire for the purpose of keeping an eye on the 
charming unknown. He hesitated an instant, peered 
without success to see if there were any recognizable marks 
on the door of the carriage, and finally went off home- 
wards in a state of ecstatic adoration. 

“Never have I seen such beauty !” he repeated to himself 
every few yards of his way. “Never! She ought to be 
a lady, in spite of appearances — certainly the carriage was 
not ostentatious. I must keep friends with Marie, and 
find out who this customer of hers is. Poor Marie ! and 
to think that at one time I really admired her ! But I am 
always too good-natured with women who throw themselves 
at me. It is my weakness.” 

In the meantime the customer from the first carriage 
had purchased what she required and driven off again. The 
second carriage drew up to the door, and the woman en- 
tered the shop, throwing off her wrap as she did so. It was 
the comtesse de Yalincour. Latour came forward, and 
Waited inquiringly. 

“Can we be alone?” asked the comtesse. 

“Yes, madame. I was about to close the shop.” 

“Tell the coachman to drive round to the back, and 
wait.” 

Latour went to the coachman, and delivered the order. 
The carriage drove off, and the woman closed the shop- 
door, lighted a small lamp, and fastened the inside shutters. 
Then she took the lamp in her hand, made a sign to the 
comtesse that she would precede her, and went out at the 
back door of the shop. The comtesse followed her along 
a short passage into a room which opened out of it on the 
right. 

This room appeared to be part of a much larger one, 
from the remainder of which it was divided off by heavy 


352 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

black curtains. The latter ascended into a black dome- 
shaped ceiling, almost invisible by the feeble light of the 
lamp. The walls were also draped in black, and a dark 
oaken cabinet at the side of the doorway scarcely relieved 
itself from the gloom of its surroundings. A small black 
table and two chairs completed the visible contents of the 
room. 

Latour put the lamp on the table, and locked the door. 
The comtesse seated herself on one of the chairs by the 
table without a glance at the rest of the room, and fixed 
her eyes on the flame of the lamp in a sort of reverie. 
Latour came forward to the table, and looked inquiringly 
at the comtesse. 

“The same question, madame?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

Latour went to the cabinet, opened its doors, and brought 
out successively a thin axe-head of silver, a ring-tripod of 
the same metal about five inches high, a spirit-lamp burn- 
ing alcohol, and a small sphere of amethystine agate. From 
a drawer in the table she produced a circular silver tray, 
thinly sprinkled with sand, and laid it on the table. On the 
tray she placed the spirit-lamp, with the tripod over it, and 
laid the axe-head horizontally across the ring of the tripod. 
Around the lamp she drew some symbolical figures with 
her forefinger in the sand, placed the agate on the axe, and 
lit the spirit-lamp. 

“The question, madame,” she murmured. 

The comtesse, who had watched these proceedings with 
the indifference of long familiarity, fixed her eyes on the 
agate, and asked, almost in a whisper, 

“Will he return?” 

The blue flame continued to burn under the thin silver 
wedge until it grew red hot, and the agate began to vibrate. 
Then it slowly rolled about on the axe, and finally fell 
over into the tray. The comtesse leaned back in her chair 
with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“At last, Marie!” she said. It has never fallen off 
before.” 

“No. It promises well.” 

“Try the smoke.” 

Latour removed the axe with a pair of pincers obtained 
from the drawer, covered the tripod with a piece of wire 




Fiat Justitia 


353 


gauze, and brought some powder in a wooden box. Then 
she drew some fresh characters in the sand, and put a 
pinch of the powder on the wire gauze. 

A pale greenish smoke immediately rose above the gauze, 
and made its way in a long spiral towards the ceiling. The 
two women watched to see Whether or not the column was 
deflected sideways before it disappeared in the darkness of 
the dome. But it remained vertical. 

“Oh!” exclaimed the comtesse. “Do you see that, 
Marie? It is for the first time — before, it has always 
turned aside. The answer is certainly yes.” 

Latour nodded. 

“Shall we try the cup ?” she asked. 

The comtesse hesitated. The two divinations by axe and 
smoke — the axinomanteia and capnomanteia of the an- 
cients — had been favorable. A third might contradict the 
two previous ones. But if it were a good augury, the 
promise of the others would be immeasurably strengthened. 

“Yes,” she decided. 

Latour removed the tray and put away its contents. 
From the cabinet she took a goblet of Venice glass and a 
little wooden box containing half a dozen strips of thinly 
beaten gold and silver, on which were scratched certain 
symbols of mediaeval magic. She put these in the cup, half 
filled it with water, and swept it carefully round and round 
until the gold and silver strips followed the revolving cur- 
rent. Then she put the cup down in front of the com- 
tesse, and the latter watched intently the settling of the 
strips. 

They gradually came to rest side by side, and the com- 
tesse rose with a triumphant expression on her face. 

“See !” she exclaimed. “Not one is crossed over the 
other. All is well. Never before to-night has a single 
augury been good.” 

Latour looked at the cup with a certain interest. 

“It seems so,” she said slowly. “For myself, I never 
thought much of these pagan auguries. If it were a messe 
noire, now ” 

The comtesse lifted her head suddenly. 

“Hush !” she said. “That must be only a last resource. 

I think d’Argenson suspects you or someone already. He 
has been going over the La Voysin papers, and I am afraid 


354 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

some customer of yours must have let drop something. Of 
course monseigneur scoffs at it, as he does at everything. 
But if d’Argenson presses him, he will certainly authorize 
inquiry, and I may not be able to put them off the scent. ” 

“Best assured, madame, no risk shall be run. People 
got a little too careless in La Yoy sin’s time. Shall I see 
after your carriage ?” 

“Yes.” 

Latour disappeared, and the comtesse was left to her 
own reflections, smiling at the cup before her. Then the 
woman returned. 

“It waits, madame.” 

The comtesse rose, and followed Latour out of the room. 
Some way further down the passage another door was 
opened which led to a hack street, in which the vehicle 
was waiting. The comtesse stepped in, drew down the 
blinds, and was driven to madame de Yentadour’s hotel, 
where she dismissed the hired carriage, and had her own 
brought round. A little later she drove home. 

Arrived at the door of her hotel, the house-steward came 
forward to receive her as she alighted. 

“Has anyone called?” she asked. 

“Monseigneur is here, madame.” 

“Alone?” 

“Ho, madame. M. le chevalier de Starhemberg is with 
him.” 

The comtesse stopped suddenly, and turned rather pale. 
Then she recovered her composure, nodded, and passed 
into the house. 

“It is wonderful,” she said to herself. 


Fiat Justitia 


355 


CHAPTER XXXVII; 

PERE GEEIONT AGAIN". 

M ADAME/; said the regent, “I expect a double wel- 
come this evening, as yon may suppose. I should 
tell you that M. de Starhemberg has only been in 
Paris an hour, so that you are the first of his .friends, after 
myself, to receive a visit from him.” 

“M. le chevalier is very good,” said the comtesse, as 
Gwynett bent over her hand. “I recollect that I was not 
' quite well when he left Paris, and could not do myself the 
pleasure of seeing him when he came to say good-bye.” 

“Which I regretted the more, madame, as it was then 
doubtful whether I should ever have occasion to revisit 
Paris.” 

A pang went through the heart of the comtesse at these 
words. 

“Then I must have been nothing to him,” she thought 
while she forced herself to smile brilliantly upon her 
guest. 

“We are glad not to have known that, M. le chevalier. 
But at all events you are back again now. Do you make 
a long stay ?” 

“The chevalier has some affair to go into with M. de 
Torcy,” put in the regent. “I have been telling him it 
must wait for a few days, as the marquis is in the south — 
at Bordeaux, I fancy. But he is expected back within the 
week.” 

“And after that, M. le chevalier ?” 

“After that, madame, I have matters that recall me to 
England without delay.” 

At this moment the abbe Dubois was announced, and 
came forward to greet Gwynett. 

“I have been kept by milord Stair,” he said, “or I should 
have had the pleasure of welcoming M. de Starhemberg 
before. Did you accomplish your mission to your satis- 
faction, M. le chevalier ?” 


356 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“In most respects, M. Tabbe. But, as it happened, I was 
robbed of milord Stair’s safe-conducts, and one object of 
my return here is to secure his good offices again for my- 
self and my friend Noel Wray.” 

“There will be no difficulty about that. Happily he has 
not the slightest suspicion of your connection with the 
Nonancourt affair.” 

“There is one point about that which I am ashamed to 
say has only just now occurred to me. What became of 
that unlucky colonel Douglas?” 

The regent burst out laughing. 

“True,” he said, “you would not be in the way of hearing 
that. But the end of the affair was that milord Stair 
became first of all impatient, then suspicious, and finally 
very angry. He attacked us about the disappearance of 
Douglas, and we had to explain that he was under arrest 
for attempting to assassinate- the chevalier de St. George. 
Then milord was full of virtuous indignation, repudiated 
any idea of intended violence to the chevalier, and swore 
that the three men were only set to watch his movements 
in the ordinary way. Naturally we did not want a scandal, 
and as Mi de St. George was by that time in Scotland, we 
set Douglas and the other fellow at liberty. Nothing has 
been seen of them since. The chevalier, as you may have 
heard, is now at Avignon, and nobody recollects his exist- 
ence.” 

Some general conversation followed, and then Gwynett 
asked permission to take his leave, on the score of being 
fatigued with his journey from Calais. Dubois rose at the 
same time and volunteered to accompany Gwynett back to 
the Palais-Royal, where his old rooms had been promptly 
assigned to him by the regent. The latter was left alone 
with madame de Valincour. 

“M. le chevalier looks very well,” remarked the comtesse, 
as the regent toyed with his coffee. 

“Remarkably so, I think. Happiness is a great beauti- 
fier, people say.” 

“Is the chevalier happier than usual?” 

“I gather that he ought to be. There is some curious 
story about his being separated from his betrothed some 
years ago — she was lost, in fact/ 2 

The comtesse gave an imperceptible start. 


Fiat Justitia 


35 7 


“His betrothed. ?” 

“Yes. They have met again, by some remarkable acci- 
dent, while he was away.” 

“Is it a good alliance ?” 

“Keally, I don’t know. But it appears to be an affair of 
inclination, not of convenience.” 

The comtesse received this news in silence, and it was 
several seconds before she resumed the conversation. 

“Then it is a love affair?” she asked. 

“Emphatically, on both sides. By chance, something 
about it came to de Torcy’s knowledge not long ago, from 
the intended father-in-law. The two young people seem to 
be devotedly attached to each other.” 

“Then they will probably marry?” 

“As soon as the chevalier returns to England. The 
whole story is very curious, if I can recollect it rightly.” 

Gwynett had given the regent an outline of his recent 
adventures, omitting for the present all reference to the 
abbe Gaultier’s share in them, and the regent proceded to 
retail them to madame de Yalincour. 

The comtesse listened with inattentive ears. All this was 
nothing. The one fatal fact was that the chevalier de 
Starhemberg was leaving Paris and France, probably for- 
ever, and leaving them because his heart was in England. 

“I am lost,” she said to herself, “if he goes back to this 
girl. I have a week — no more. After that, all will be over 
— unless — yes. Marie was right. There is still the messe ” 

“The coincidences are remarkable, are they not?” asked 
the regent. 

“Very,” replied the comtesse, who had not heard a word 
of what her companion had been saying. 

She rang a bell, and gave instructions that madame 
Latour should be sent for the first thing on the following 
day. Then she listened to the regent until the conversation 
and the subject dropped. 

The next morning Marie Latour was announced while 
the comtesse was making a pretence at a breakfast. 

Madame de Valincour had evidently not slept. Her 
appearance struck Latour, but the latter made no com- 
ment. Her own mind was in a tumult of jealous rage and 
humiliation at the evident indifference of her fickle lover, 
and she, too, had passed a sleepless night. 


358 Gwynett of Thornhangh 

“Have the auguries failed, madame?” she asked, when 
the door had closed and they were alone. 

“No. They were true to a marvel.” 

Latour waited for further enlightenment. The com- 
tesse did not at first speak. Hitherto, whatever may have 
been her transactions or relations with Latour, she had 
made her little if anything of a confidante. The professor 
of the black art only knew that madame de Valincour 
was anxious that someone or other should return to Paris. 
But now it was necessary either to be more explicit, or to 
leave unused the most potent weapon which the combined 
irreligion and superstition of that remarkable period placed 
at the disposal of the unscrupulous — a weapon to which 
allusion had already been made in this history when 
referring to the widespread acceptance and practice of nec- 
romantic arts in the generation preceding the regency. To 
employ this, Latour’s aid was indispensable, and the com- 
tesse reluctantly made a virtue of necessity. 

“Sit down, Marie,” she said abruptly. “I want a messc 
noire. Will you arrange one for me?” 

Latour took a seat opposite the comtesse, and looked 
at her fixedly. 

“It may be expensive, madame.” 

“That, of course. We both run a risk, and naturally 
your risk must be paid for.” 

“It is not only I, but the celebrant, madame.” 

“Do you know of one ?” 

“I think so. In fact, I am almost sure. But I do not 
know what he will ask.” 

“You shall each have a thousand lois d’or. Will that 
satisfy you ?” 

“Yes, madame. I will undertake that that shall suffice, 
if at all. But there is one other thing — the candles. They 
are essential.” 

“I thought you knew the ?” 

The comtesse did not finish the sentence, but Latour 
nodded. 

“It is true,” she said. “But he is an infidel, an atheist, 
a scoffer. I am not at all sure he will give any help. If he 
will not, it puts obstacles in the way.” 

“Money will overcome them. The real difficulty is the 


Fiat Justitia 


359 

short time. Whatever happens, we must have the business 
over within a week.” 

“I will do my best, madame.” 

There was an interval of silence, and then Latour said, 

“You have not mentioned the prayer to be made, 
madame.” 

The. comtesse knitted her brows, and replied after a 
moment’s thought, 

“It is that a man’s love shall be taken from his be- 
trothed wife, and fixed upon me forever and ever.” 

Latour made no answer, but half-closed her eyes and let 
a suppressed sigh escape her. Then she rose. 

“That is all, madame?” she asked. 

“Yes.” 

The comtesse rose in her turn, crossed the room to a 
desk, and brought out some rouleaux of gold. 

“Here are a hundred louis,” she said. “You can have 
the rest when necessary.” 

Latour took the rouleaux, thrust them into the bosom of 
her dress, and then produced from her pocket a little phial. 

“A propos , madame,” she said, “I have here something 
which I thought you might like to purchase, in case it 
would interest monseigneur.” 

“Why?” asked the comtesse. 

“Madame, it is a new discovery of a relative of mine, 
who is interested in chemistry, like monseigneur. It is 
a remarkable vegetable extract, hitherto unknown, and it 
only reached me to-day in a letter from my relative.” 

“Has it any peculiar properties ?” 

“Several, madame. But amongst others, it seems to be 
the most rapid poison known, if taken in any but the most 
minute quantities.” 

The comtesse looked at the phial with more interest than 
she had hitherto shown. 

“Ah! And how has your relative ascertained that?” 

“By experiments with rabbits, madame. One drop is 
sufficient.” 

“And what trace is left?” 

“Hone, madame — absolutely.” 

The comtesse was silent a moment. Then she remarked, 
as she took the phial from Latour and examined it, 

“It is possible, as you say, that monseigneur might be 


360 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

interested in this preparation — especially as it is so po- 
tent. How. much do you ask for it ?” 

“It is very troublesome to prepare, madame. I was told 
to ask ten louis.” 

The comtesse took the money from the drawer of the 
desk by which she was standing, and handed it to Latour. 

“You can leave the bottle. I will tell monseigneur what 
you say about it — if I remember. When shall I hear from 
you about the other matter ?” 

“If possible to-night, madame.” 

Latour curtsied, and went out. The comtesse looked 
steadfastly at the little bottle for several seconds, ap- 
parently revolving something in her mind, and then put it 
away in a secret drawer of the desk. 

Latour went home to the shop in the Eue Beauregard, 
which she had locked up during her absence. As she put 
the key in the lock to enter, a man who appeared to be on 
the look-out for the opening of the shop came up. He was 
dressed in the garb of a friar, with a deep hood shading his 
face. He wore very large tinted spectacles, and his mouth 
was concealed by a sort of respirator. It was pere Germont, 
the cure of Ste. Marie Geneste. 

“Good morning, Marie,” he said, as he reached the door. 

Latour looked at him in some surprise. 

“Why, it is uncle Germont !” she exclaimed. “Come 
in.” 

The pair entered the shop, and the cure passed through 
it into a little sitting-room beyond. Here he sat down 
wearily, and his head fell forward with an air of profound 
dejection. Marie looked at him inquiringly. 

“It is curious that you should be here,” she said. “I was 
just on the point of writing to you to come to Paris at once. 
What brings you?” 

The cure sighed heavily. 

“A great misfortune, Marie. Three days ago, in one of 
my experiments — a most promising one, which has cost me 
the savings of two years — the retort exploded, and 
wrecked my laboratory. There is scarcely an apparatus left 
undamaged or undestroyed. How to replace them I know 
not.” 

“Your face has been injured, too ?” 

“No!” replied the cure quickly. “I usually go about 


Fiat Justitia 


3 61 

in this dress. I am all right. I walked most of the way 
here — for one thing, I hoped you might have sold the last 
phial I sent you.” 

“I sold it this morning. I asked ten louis for it — here 
they are.” 

She placed the money on the table near the cure, who 
looked at it gloomily. 

“Better 'than nothing,” he said. “I must try and get 
together a few things on credit, and pay an instalment 
down. Can you spare me anything?” 

Latour put her hand in the bosom of her dress, pulled 
out the rouleaux of a hundred louis d ? or, and laid them 
before pere Germont. The cure uttered a cry of surprise. 

“If you care to earn this, my uncle,” said Latour, “you 
can earn it, and ten times as much, for certain. Perhaps 
more, but I cannot tell that just yet.” 

The cure turned over the gold with trembling fingers, 
and his eyes gleamed even through his dark spectacles. 

“This is a fortune,” he cried eagerly. “With this I can 
buy instruments, crucibles, alembics, retorts, precious ores 
— everything ! What is it all about ? What is to be done ?” 

“It is a serious matter,” replied Latour. 

“A crime?” 

“Legally a crime.” 

“A risk?” 

“Yes.” 

The cure shrugged his shoulders. 

“I risk my life every experiment I make,” he said. “Is 
it worse than that ?” 

“Only of being burnt alive at La Greve, my uncle.” 

The cure looked up keenly. 

“A little sorcery, perhaps?” 

“More than a little.” 

The cure leaned forward and whispered, 

“Ah ! Then it must be ?” 

“A messe noire , my uncle.” 

There was a short silence, and the cure remarked, 

“So! and for whom?” 

“Is*it well to say, my uncle?” 

“Not if you are satisfied. A woman, of course?” 

“Yes.” 

“Safe?” 


362 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Quite — and powerful. Very powerful.” 

“And the price?” 

“Two thousand louis.” 

“You have to provide the — the elements?” 

“Yes. I look to you for the Host.” 

“Good. Do you see your way to the child?” 

“One can always manage that, somehow.” 

“And the candles?” 

“I hope so.” 

“How much will they cost?” 

“I have no idea.” 

“But you know the man?” 

“Very well. But this is a new affair. Still, a thousand 
louis ought to be sufficient.” 

“One would think so — if he will do it at all.” 

“He need not know everything.” 

“He can hardly know anything without knowing too 
much. However, he can only refuse. If he does, no doubt 
things can be managed without him.” 

Latour looked up sharply. 

“What do you mean by ‘without him?’ It must he 
done rightly, or I will have nothing to do with it. Have 
you no conscience?” 

The cure flung himself back in his chair impatiently. 

“Well, well !” he muttered. “As you like — I know your 
prejudices. When will you find out about Sanson?” 

“At once.” 

Latour went into the front shop, wrote out a short note, 
and disappeared somewhere to find a messenger. 

The cure remained at the table, counting the louis d’or 
with earnest care. When he had gone through them he 
leaned hack in his chair, and folded his arms. 

“It is curious,” he reflected, “what a fuss these devotes 
make, even in their blasphemies. It must be a great com- 
fort to believe enormously, when one believes anything at 
all. I wish I could take anything — outside of my labora- 
tory — half as seriously as these good people take their 
friend the devil.” 


Fiat Justitia 


363 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

M. SANSON DRIVES A BARGAIN. 

A X hour or two after the conversation between Marie 
Latour and her uncle, the cure, it happened that M. 
Charles Sanson was enjoying his dinner at the little 
cabaret wherein he was first introduced to the reader in a 
former portion of this history. 

Sitting at the same table and sharing the meal was the 
man Lambert, whose fortunes seemed to have changed for 
the worse since his liberation from prison at the instance 
of the British ambassador. It was in fact his woe-begone 
and shrunken appearance, when accidentally meeting San- 
son half an hour previously, which had elicited from the 
executioner the compassionate proposal that his seedy 
acquaintance should help him to eat his dinner at his 
favorite tavern — an invitation which had been rapturously 
accepted. 

The hungry Lambert set to work with the air of one pro- 
visioning himself for a months fast, and had finished his 
share of the entertainment before his host was half way 
through. He leaned back with a sigh, partly of regret and 
partly of repletion, and helped himself to another glass of 
wine. 

“You will excuse my being leisurely,” observed Sanson 
when he noticed that he had been left- behind. “I always 
take time, when I can — when my duties permit me to be 
at ease, that is to say.” 

“I suppose you are usually busy, monsieur.” 

Sanson gave a little sigh. 

“Well, to tell you the truth, things have been very dull 
of late. Monseigneur is a man whom I esteem very much — 
none the less, perhaps, because he takes after me in being 
devoted to the ladies — but he has nearly ruined me.” 
“How is that ?” 

“He has sent orders to the judges to be lenient with cer- 
tain classes of offenders, who used to be my main support. 


364 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

Imagine to yourself that for six months they have not given 
me a man to hang for stealing food ! And as to a really 
paying job, why I have almost forgotten how to burn alive, 
or break upon the wheel, or draw and quarter. Certainly 
the widow Scarron and her Jesuits were a set of miser ables. 
But at all events they enabled a man to earn a decent liv- 
ing" 

“What executions have you on hand at present?” asked 
Lambert in a tone of polite interest, bred of the hospitality 
he was enjoying. 

“I had a couple of hangings this morning,” replied San- 
son. “Merely two cut-throats who made a mistake the other 
night, attacked a wayfarer at Chaillot, and found them- 
selves both shot in the legs before they could get at their 
quarry. Well-dressed rascals, too, which is lucky. I shall 
get three louis for their clothes, I hope. On the other hand, 
I don’t expect any relatives will turn up to buy the bodies 
from me, and that will be a dead loss. To-morrow morning 
I go to Mantes for a day’s work there. The executioner 
of the town is ill, and has asked me to take his place. You 
can quite understand, my dear friend, that for a Parisian 
there is no eclat in these provincial affairs. But I never 
hesitate to oblige a colleague, who might otherwise have to 
fall back upon some bungling assistant. However, all this 
is a little too professional. Let us drink to the health of 
the ladies, and we will have another bottle.” 

Lambert gave a fervent assent to this proposal, and the 
fresh bottle was duly opened. 

“To beauty l” said Sanson, as he held up his glass grace- 
fully. “And more especially to the most beautiful woman 
in Paris !” 

“By all means,” replied Lambert, emptying his glass at 
a gulp. “I only wish every woman who considers herself 
the greatest beauty in Paris would stand treat to me. 
Diable! I should never be sober.” 

“My dear friend,” said Sanson, “you misapprehend me. 
I was referring to the one who is the most beautiful, in my 
judgment. You will allow that my judgment goes for 
something.” 

“Without doubt, monsieur. Is it permitted to ask who 
the lady may be ?” 

“I am bursting with chagrin that I don’t know. I wish 


Fiat Justitia 


365 

I did. I can assure you, my dear friend, that my first and 
only sight of her last evening took away all my night’s 
rest.” 

Sanson made this confession with so much fervor and 
self-abstraction that his companion felt quite safe in gently 
conveying the bottle to his own side of the table, with a 
view to keeping it there for his exclusive consumption. 

“You are too susceptible, my dear M. Sanson,” he sug- 
gested blandly, as he filled up his glass. “'These violent 
emotions must be injurious to the constitution.” 

“I am afraid so,” replied Sanson seriously. “But what 
is one to do ?” 

At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and a lad 
entered with a note in his hand. 

“I was sent here from M. Sanson’s house, messieurs,” 
he said. “I have this letter for him.” 

Sanson held out his hand for the letter, and recognized 
Latour’s handwriting in the address. 

ee PesteT he muttered angrily. “Can I not even eat my 
dinner in peace ?” 

He opened the letter, and read : 

“I wish to see you on some urgent business as soon as 
possible. Shall I come to your house, or will you call 
here ?” 

“Certainly not at my house,” said Sanson to himself. 
He turned to the lad, and asked, 

“Are you going back to the Rue Beauregard?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“Say to madame Latour that I will call in the course of 
the afternoon.” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

The lad went out, and Lambert reluctantly moved the 
wine bottle a little nearer to his host. 

“The ladies will not leave you alone,” he remarked, 
hoping that the reign of sentiment might recommence and 
the wine be neglected. 

“Diable! you are right,” grumbled Sanson, half-empty- 
ing the bottle into his glass. “It is astonishing, my dear 
friend, how slow women are to understand that yesterday is 
not to-day — and what a fuss they make because one cannot 
call it to-morrow as well.” 


366 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“That is unreasonable, certainly,” replied Lambert, 
eyeing the bottle which his host still held in his hand. 

“It is monstrous,” said Sanson. He poured out the re- 
mainder of the wine and drank it off, while Lambert sighed 
heavily and loaded his host’s correspondent with silent 
curses. 

After a minute’s disgusted silence Sanson rose, bade his 
guest a curt farewell, and strolled off to his home prepara- 
tory to making his promised appearance in the Eue Beaure- 
gard. He endeavored to restore his disturbed equanimity 
with another bottle of wine, and then in a somewhat more 
genial mood sallied forth to keep his appointment. 

The cure had temporarily disappeared from the per- 
fumer’s shop, and Sanson found Lafour alone. He was 
asked into the little sitting-room, commanding a view of 
the shop through a small window, and took his seat with 
rather a perfunctory air. 

“Well, my dear Marie,” he said, “you have something to 
say to me, it appears?” 

Latour seated herself where she could look through the 
little window, and replied, 

“Yes. The matter is this. I have a customer who has 
a fancy for trying fortunes and so forth — she comes here 
occasionally for my assistance in making her experiments.” 

“I wonder at your wasting time over such imbecile super- 
stitions.” 

“She pays me well,” explained Latour coldly. 

“That alters the case, of course.”' 

“She has now an idea of studying conjurations.” 

“It is lucky your idiot is a wealthy idiot.” 

“Perhaps so. Anyhow, she pays.” 

“Quite right, my dear Marie. Well?” 

“It appears that for one of the ceremonies there is a 
certain requirement, rather difficult to obtain in the ordi- 
nary way. I thought perhaps it might be worth your while 
to help — on reasonable terms, of course.” 

“If it is a matter of business, I have no objection to 
make. What is it you want ?” 

“Hot I — my customer.” 

“Well, what does your customer want?” 

“Two candles, made of the fat of a pendu”* 

* Man who has been hanged, 


Fiat Justitia 367 

Sanson sat bolt upright, and looked sharply at his 
companion. 

“Indeed?” he remarked suspiciously. “Do you know, 
my good Marie, I have heard something of that before, 
sometime or other. It smells of sorcery a mile off.” 

“I thought you did not believe in sorcery ?” 

“If I do not, I believe at all events in getting burnt alive 
at La Greve, like mere Voysin and her friends. It is true 
we have now the advantage of living under a regent who 
believes in nothing. But that does not alter .the law.” 

“Are you not going a little too fast? I have not asked 
you to assist in any sorcery.” 

“That is true. Well, let me hear all you have to say.” 

“My customer will pay well.” 

“So she ought, for a thing like that.” 

“The question is, can you manage it ?” 

“Certainly, I can, if I choose.” 

“It must be within a week, or the favorable conjuncture 
will have passed. How does that affect you?” 

“It makes no difference, as it happens. I have two fel- 
lows on hand now, hung this morning. One of them is a 
mere skeleton, but the other might serve — if I consent. 
Only, on the whole, I am not disposed to consent.” 

“My customer will pay a hundred louis apiece. for the 
candles.” 

Sanson stroked his chin reflectively. 

“You see, my dear Marie, people are n6t to be relied on. 
Your customer must be rather in earnest to offer two hun- 
dred louis for a couple of candles. If she is in earnest, 
she has probably some strong motive, and if she gets noth- 
ing by her little conjuration, she will be furiously disap- 
pointed. Then she will go and tell someone in confidence 
that she has been swindled. In twenty-four hours M. d’Ar- 
genson will know all about it, and we shall be in the 
Bastille.” 

“I am sure my customer will hold her tongue. I dare- 
say, also, she would offer five hundred louis rather than 
be baulked.” 

“Worse and worse. There must be something damnably 
illegal about a pair of candles that are to cost five hundred 
louis.” 

Latour made a movement of impatience. 


368 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“How much do you want?” she asked brusquely. 

Sanson shrugged his shoulders. 

“Suppose we discuss an alternative,” he said. “Your 
customer, I gather, attaches importance to the composition 
of the candles?” 

“It is vital.” 

“You mean she thinks it is vital. Let her continue to 
think so — it is inexpressibly ridiculous, but convenient. I 
am quite open to accept five hundred louis for a pair of 
candles for her — candles, you understand, which will look 
everything that she could wish. Then all of us will be 
satisfied.” 

Latour fixed a piercing glance upon the speaker, and 
asked sharply, 

“What do you mean, monsieur? Will they not be gen- 
uine ?” 

“Perfectly genuine, my dear Marie. You need not be 
afraid of their not burning.” 

“But composed of what?” 

“Something quite respectable — not even stolen. I sup- 
pose your customer does not pretend to know the fat of a 
pendu when she sees it ? If not, good honest mutton tal- 
low will answer her purpose just as well — so long as she 
is no wiser.” 

Latour rose, pale with horror. 

“Monsieur, you must be mad! Do you wish us both 
to be blasted, struck dead here as we sit, for contemplating 
such a blasphemous trick ? Be silent !” 

The woman’s agitation and terror were so evident that 
Sanson burst out laughing. 

“Really, my dear Marie, your scruples are monumental. 
If you can have the conscience to permit your customer 
to pay five hundred louis for what is not worth five sous , 
it seems to me that ” 

“You know absolutely nothing about it,” interrupted 
Latour. “It is a question of what I ask for, or nothing.” 

Sanson shook his head. 

“I don’t like it, I confess. If anything gets about, they 
will say I ought to have informed M. d’Argenson.” 

“Nothing shall get about. Of that, you may be quite 
assured.” 

“It is easy to say so. But what discretion could one 


Fiat Justitia 369 

expect from an old hag who is fool enough to believe in 
that sort of hanky-panky?” 

“You are quite mistaken. She is neither old nor a 
hag.” 

Sanson smiled a little incredulously. 

“Perhaps even good-looking ?” he suggested. 

“You might think so,” retorted Latour tartly. 

“And since when has a good-looking young woman re- 
quired corpse-candles to get her own way? Really things 
must be coming to a pretty pass. I suppose I may not 
ask who it is ?” 

“You will certainly not get an answer.” 

“Then, my dear Marie, you will certainly not get your 
candles.” 

“That is nonsense. The five hundred louis are just as 
good gold, whoever the giver may be.” 

An idea suddenly flashed into Sanson’s mind, and he re- 
marked to Latour cunningtyj 

“Well, this is not a thing to be decided on in a hurry. 
You should have spoken to me a week or so ago.” 

“I only knew to-day.” 

Sanson chuckled. 

“How was it you did not guess last night ?” he asked. 

“Because I did not,” replied Latour unguardedly. “I 
sent for you the moment I knew what was wanted.” 

Sanson burst out laughing. 

“How, my dear Marie, let us understand one another. 
If you had only told me at the outset that it was for the 
customer who called on you last night, just as I left here, 
we could have come to terms at once.” 

“What customer?” asked Latour, with sudden suspicion. 

“Hot the first, my dear Marie — the second.” 

“What has either the first or the second to do with it ?” 

“The first, nothing — but the second, everything.” 

“Why?” 

“Why ! Because, my dear Marie, the second was a per* 
feet Yenus, a Dione, an Aphrodite, an Astarte — everything 
in fact that messieurs the poets have agreed to call the very 
ideal of loveliness. Hever have I -beheld the like.” 

Latour turned scarlet, and her eyes flashed. 

“You saw her, then ?” 

“For half a minute only — alas !” 


370 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

"Time enough to make a good many comparisons, it 
would seem, monsieur.” 

"Time enough, my dear Marie? One second was suffi- 
cient. Now tell me who was the divine creature?” 

"She is nothing to you, monsieur.” 

"Nothing ! Nothing to a man of my susceptibility ! But 
women are all alike. They can never do justice to the 
beauty of another woman.” 

Latour stamped her foot furiously. 

"Are you bent upon maddening me, monsieur ? Yester- 
day, you came to tell me you are sick of me — and to-day, 
forsooth, I am to listen to your ravings about another wom- 
an’s beauty !” 

"Well, well !” replied Sanson impatiently, "it is a sub- 
ject on which we are not likely to agree. But listen — all 
this about your candles is quite simple now that I know 
they are for that fine woman. I have changed my mind, 
and will furnish what you want.” 

"For the five hundred louis ?” 

"For nothing.” 

"For nothing !” 

"Yes. More than that, i will respect the charming un- 
known’s incognito . On second thoughts, I see that she 
has a right to insist on it. In fact a woman with a face 
like that has a right to insist on anything. I only make 
one little stipulation.” 

"Well?” 

"Your lovely customer must fetch the candles herself.” 

"Herself?” ' 

"Why not ? Candles worth five hundred louis a pair are 
worth fetching, one would think. All that she has to do 
is to come to my house to-night — as late as she likes ” 

"Why late?” 

Peste ! Lest she should be seen, of course. Do you 
imagine I have no discretion?” 

"And they will be ready for her ?” 

"They will be ready in the morning — which will be quite 
soon enough.” 

Latour stared at the speaker for a moment, and then 
turned livid. 

"And you propose that to my face !” she screamed. "I 
will kill you first !” 


Fiat Justitia 


37i 


Sanson rose leisurely, and picked up his hat. 

“That would be deplorable/’ he remarked. “You decide 
me to have nothing to do with the matter. Only, as I had 
rather set my heart on a visit from your adorable sorceress, 
I am afraid my disappointment may show itself in my face 
— to M. d’Argenson, for example.” 

“You dare not !” 

“Dare not? My dear Marie, I fail to see what courage 
is wanted for ranging one’s self on the safe side.” 

Latour sprang up, locked the door, and planted herself 
against it. 

“Miserable traitor! You shall not leave this room till 
yon have sworn never to betray me !” 

“Eh ! what a spitfire ! Well, I will stvear all that, if you 
insist upon it — but, as before, on one condition.” 

Latour glared at the speaker in silence, her eyes flashing, 
and her bosom heaving tumultuously. 

“The condition that you convey my offer to the fair lady. 
She can only refuse. Then you may go to the devil or any- 
one else you like for your candles.” 

“And if I will not?” 

“Then I shall go straight to M. d’Argenson.” 

“You heard what I said just now.” 

“Pooh ! My dear Marie, that is not a good tone to adopt 
with me. If 1 once get really annoyed, I shall simply 
knock you down or strangle you, and go home. Therefore 
let us finish our interview amicably. Yes or no ?” 

“A million times, no !” 

“Good. That is to the point — which cannot always be 
said of ladies’ speeches. Now do me the favor to unlock 
that door, and permit me to pass.” 

Latour clenched her fists, and glared at Sanson like a 
tigress. 

“Never!” she panted. 

Sanson came nearer. 

“Don’t be a fool !” he remarked curtly. “Recollect that 
other people may have tempers beside yourself. Hitherto 
you have only seen my amiable side, and perhaps that mis- 
leads you. Open that door, and let us have no more non- 
sense.” 

Latour neither spoke nor moved, and Sanson, quite out 
of patience, made a step forward, and thrust her aside with 


372 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

some violence. She staggered backwards a pace or two 
until she was stopped by a tall cabinet, and her face be- 
came whiter than before. 

“Enough!” she said. “You may go. I, too, have 
changed my mind. I will tell her what you propose.” 

Sanson unlocked the door, with a return of amiability 
in his expression. 

“That is all right,” he said. “It is always better to have 
things upon a pleasant footing. You will let me know the 
answer ?” 

Latour took a step towards the nearest chair and sank 
into it, with her eyes fixed glassily on Sanson. 

“Yes,” she muttered hoarsely. 

“Then I will say good afternoon.” 

Latour looked at him for a moment in silence, and then 
asked, 

“Are you going home now?” 

“Probably.” 

“Go home, then — and pray.” 

“Pray ?” 

“Yes — pray. Pray, as you never prayed in your life, 
that the answer shall be — no.” 

Sanson shrugged his shoulders, laughed good-naturedly, 
and went out humming a song. 

For a while the woman sat silent and motionless, breath- 
ing heavily, with lier eyes fixed upon vacancy. Then she 
started slightly, as if waking out of a dream, and muttered 
to herself, 

“After all, she will refuse. But he will never come 
back again to me — never.” 

******** 

The comtesse de Yalincour was walking up and down her 
dressing-room in a tempest of rage, disgust, and burning 
indignation, while Marie Latour looked on with dull eyes 
and a rigid, expressionless face. 

“It is impossible, woman, that you can have been sent 
td outrage me with such a message from such a person! 
Someone has paid you to insult me — one of my enemies! 
Confess it !” 

“Madame, everything has been just as I have said.” 

“I will never believe the miscreant could even imagine 


Fiat Justitia 


373 

such insolence or such audacity. It must have been some 
idiotic blunder of yours.” 

“On the contrary, madame, I made every protest, and 
only at the last moment consented to bring the message. 
After all, mad am e, you have merely to say no.” 

“But you said yourself that he would refuse the candles ?” 

“Yes, madame.” 

The comtesse tore a piece of lace out of her bodice with 
the angry clutching of her fingers. 

“Was ever anything so bungled?” she exclaimed. “And 
just when every hour is of consequence. Where else can 
you go?” 

“Nowhere, madame, that I know of. There have been 
so few executions of late, and I relied upon this. Of 
course, had one plenty of time ” 

“You did not bribe high enough.” 

“The proposal speaks for itself, madame. If he prefers 
that to five hundred louis ” 

“Offer a thousand — two thousand.” 

“Madame, he pointed out himself that the higher the 
bribe the greater the risk of accepting it. He does not 
know all, but he suspects enough to put him on his guard.” 

“Have you nothing that you can threaten him with ? No 
secret of his ?” 

“No, madame.” 

“Is there no trap you can lay for him ?” 

“He leaves Paris to-morrow, madame, for a day or two. 
Anything of that sort requires time, and you speak of be- 
ing in a hurry.” 

The comtesse resumed her walk with the gait of an 
imprisoned tigress. 

“It is monstrous — infamous !” she panted. “But it shall 
be punished. Hanging is too good for such canaille ” 

Latour interrupted her patroness rather unceremoni- 
ously. 

“Madame, it is only necessary to remark that this man 
does not know you in the least.” 

“He saw me, you said.” 

“By accident, madame, for a minute merely, and for the 
first time. You go about Paris so very little that he may 
never catch sight of you again. Besides, it was nearly dark. 


374 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

You are perfectly safe in refusing, and that will end the 
matter / 7 

“But then we shall not have the candles — and we must 
have them / 7 

Latour began to tremble. 

“It is impossible, madame / 7 she said, “that you should 
pay such a price for them / 7 

“I will pay any price that is necessary, woman / 7 re- 
torted the comtesse. “But that does not prevent my hating 
the necessity / 7 

Latour 7 s eyes flashed, and she drew a deep breath. 

“Then you consent, madame ? 77 

“Yes — no! Oh! it is too revolting ! 77 and the comtesse 
panting, tore open her robe as if she were suffocating. “The 
wretch ! the vile, loathsome reptile ! 77 

“Pooh! madame / 7 said Latour rudely, “that is non- 
sense. He is a man, like any other — and a handsome gen- 
tleman, besides. But you have said no, and I will take back 
that answer . 77 

She flung her shawl hastily over her head, and took 
three or four rapid steps towards the door. 

The comtesse looked after her with a sudden hardening 
of the face, and clutched her throat with her hand. 

“Stop ! 77 she cried. “The answer is — yes . 77 

Latour stopped, and faced the comtesse. 

“Do you mean that, madame ? 77 she asked hoarsely. 

“I mean that . 77 

As she spoke the comtesse turned her back on Latour, 
walked slowly towards her bedroom, and shut herself in 
without another word. Latour 7 s face changed as if twenty 
years had suddenly passed over it. For a moment she stood 
motionless. Then she stretched out her hand, and spat 
towards the door by which the comtesse had just gone out. 

“Be accursed ! 77 she hissed between her set teeth. 

Her hand fell again to her side. She turned quickly, 
walked with unsteady steps across the room to the outer 
door, and disappeared. 


Fiat Justitia 


375 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

UNE MESSE NOIRE. 

N IGHT had fallen over Paris. 

A black pall of cloud veiled the moon’s rays, and no 
breath of wind disturbed the still and sultry air. 
The streets were deserted and silent, and only here and 
there was a glimpse of light to be seen flickering in some 
casement window. 

An hour after curfew a sedan chair with two bearers had 
stopped at the perfumer’s shop in the Rue Beauregard, and 
set down a masked woman, who paid the bearers, entered 
the doorway, and disappeared. The bearers went away, 
evidently with no orders to return. The shop door and 
window were forthwith closed and shut up, and the single 
light which had been visible within it was extinguished, 
Since then the street had been in total darkness, and its 
solitude had been disturbed only by one or two late revel- 
lers staggering deviously to their homes. 

Meanwhile, in a chamber of the perfumer’s house, in- 
visible from the outside of the building, a strange scene 
was being enacted. 

The room was the same one which had been used two 
nights previously for the appeal to the auguries of the axe, 
the smoke, and the cup. But the curtain which had then 
formed one side of it was withdrawn, and it now appeared 
more than doubled in size. The ceiling, as before, was 
domed with a canopy of black which vanished into impene- 
trable darkness. The air of the room was heavy with 
incense. 

In the newly shown portion of the apartment stood a 
table covered with a mattress. Against the end of the 
table there rested a prie-dieu chair upside down, and on the 
top of this was placed a cushion. At the same end of the 
table stood two lighted candles, one on each side, fixed in 
silver candlesticks. 


376 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

Extended on the mattress, the head resting on the 
cushion and the face hidden by a mask of black velvet, 
was the nude form of a magnificently beautiful woman. 
An embroidered pall crossed the middle of her body, and 
fell down to the ground on each side of the table. On 
this pall rested a golden chalice, and a crucifix, reversed, 
lay on the woman’s breast. 

This woman, the living altar of the messe noire , was the 
comtesse de Valin cour. 

Behind the prie-dieu stood Marie Latour, dressed in 
black and swinging a smoking censer slowly to and fro. 
At the farther side of the altar was pere Germont, his face 
still shaded by his monk’s hood and dark spectacles, but 
wearing over his frock a chasuble of yellow embroidered 
in black with representations of fir-cones. 

No one else was visible. But once or twice, when there 
came an interval of absolute silence, the sound of heavy 
breathing could be heard in the darkness at the farther end 
of the roqm. 

The impious celebration was partly over. The pre-sanc- 
tified Host, brought by Germont from Ste. Marie Geneste 
in its bronze pyx, had been obscenely decorated according 
to the unnamable rites of the messe noire. The climax of 
the infernal sacrament was at hand. 

A gong, struck by Latour, sent a solemn sound as of a 
funeral knell through the incense-laden air. Then she 
disappeared behind the black draperies at the end of the 
room, and the tapers flickered in the semi-darkness with 
the movement of her passing. 

A minute later she returned. In her arms she carried 
the naked body of a child, a little boy, who breathed heavily 
and had evidently been stupefied by some powerful narcotic. 
She advanced to pere Germont, and at a sign from him, 
laid the child on the long stool upon which the cure had 
from time to time been kneeling. 

The cure knelt, kissed the altar, and rose, muttering the 
words : 


“kyrie ELEISON". 
SATANAS ELEISON. 
KYRIE ELEISON/' 


Fiat Justitia 


.377 

Latour, standing as before by the prie-dieu , struck the 
gong a second time. 

The cure murmured again. 

“Gloria tibi, Satanas. Gloria in excelsis, et bene- 
diction ET HONOR, ET POTESTAS IN SPECULA SiECULORUM. 

“Laudamus te ; benedicimus te ; adoramus te ; glori- 

FICAMUS TE. GrATIAS AGIMUS TIBI PROPTER MAGNAM 
GLORIAM TUAM. DOMINE DeUS, ReX INFERNE, DEUS 
OMNIPOTENS; SUSCIPE DEPRECATIONEM NOSTRAM." 

Latour struck the gong a third time. 

The sinister vibrations resounded through the gloom, 
and died away into silence. A shudder ran through the 
recumbent form on the altar, and the cure put forth his 
hand to steady the golden chalice. Then he looked to- 
wards Latour. 

The woman stepped back to a little side-table on which 
the pyx was resting, and took up a knife. 

At this moment a moth, winging its devious flight 
round the chamber, struck against one of the candles, and 
extinguished it. 

Latour gave a little gasp, and let fall the knife. The 
priest signed to her angrily to relight the candle, and 
waited with impatience while she endeavored, with shaking 
fingers, to obey him. The comtesse, after the single 
shudder which had passed through her frame when the 
gong had sounded the third time, remained motionless. 

The priest bent down, raised the body of the child in 
his arms, and muttered, 

“Te igitur, clementissime Domine, supplices roga- 

MUS AC PETIMUS, UTI ACCEPTA*HABEAS ET BENEDICAS H.EC 
DONA; H.EC MUNERA; H^C SACRIFICIA ILLIBATA 
QUJ2 TIBI OFFERIUMUS.” 

He lifted the body higher, and said in a louder voice, 

“Great Lord! accept , I conjure thee , the sacrifice I now 
offer of this child in return for the grace I am about to 
ash of thee” 

He signed to Latour, and the gong was struck for the 
last time. The woman stepped forward, and held out the 
knife. 

The priest held the child’s body over the altar, took the 
knife from Latour, and with a rapid sweep cut its throat. 

The blood spouted forth into the chalice, overflowed it, 


378 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

and ran down over the body of the comtesse. The child 
expired without a movement or a sound. 

The priest signed again to Latour. She came forward 
unsteadily, looked at the child’s body for a moment, and 
then took it from the priest’s arm to lay it on the side-table. 

The priest raised the brimming chalice aloft, and said 
in a hoarse whisper : 

“Hie EST ENIM CALIX SANGUINIS MEI .” 

He dipped his fingers in the blood, made with it the sign 
of a pentacle on the breast of the comtesse, and emptied 
half of the contents of the chalice on the altar. Then he 
murmured, 

“Oremus. Let us pray.” 

Latour came to the prie-dieu , and whispered in the ear 
of madame de Yalincour. Then the comtesse, speaking 
for the first time, uttered the words, 

“I pray.” 

The priest closed his hands, and prayed, 

“ Satanas , Lord of life and of death , Prince of the Air , 
Acceptor of Hood , hear the prayer of this thy servant 
Yvonne du Fresne de Beauval, comtesse de Valincour. 

i( Grant that the love of him who is called the chevalier de 
Starhemberg may pass from his betrothed wife , that she 
may become hateful and loathsome to him , and that his 
love may be fixed upon thy servant Yvonne for ever and 
ever. Amen.” 

The comtesse echoed almost inaudibly, 

"Amen.” 

The priest held the half-empty chalice over the altar 
while Latour brought the paten from the side-table. He 
crumbled the remaining fragments of the Host into the 
cup, and spat into it. Then he emptied the cup over the 
body of the comtesse, and blew out the two candles. 

There was a moment of profound silence, and then 
through the darkness there came the words of the priest, 
faint as if chanted from a distance, 

“Ite. Missa est.” 

The messe noire was ended. 

Latour struck a light with flint and steel, and lit a little 
lamp on the side-table. The priest had disappeared, and 
the two women were left alone. 


Fiat Justitia 


379 


Latour threw a cloth over the body of the child, and 
pinched with her fingers the red wick of one of the candles, 
which was mingling its acrid fumes with the incense of the 
thick air. Then she took up a long cloak, and stood by the 
side of the altar. 

“Rise, madame,” she said, as she held out the cloak. 

The comtesse raised herself, flung away the pall 
stretched across her, and stepped on to the floor. Her 
nude form gleamed pallidly in the dim light of the little 
lamp, and her eyes glittered from behind the black velvet 
mask. 

“At last !” she breathed to herself, with a deep-drawn 
sigh. 

Latour wrapped her in the cloak, and the two women 
went out of the room. 

A quarter of an hour later Latour returned alone to the 
scene of the messe noire . She carried a bag containing 
rouleaux of gold which she threw carelessly on the mat- 
tress. At the same moment the priest, divested of his 
yellow robe, appeared at an opening between the curtains, 
and came forward. 

“She has gone?” he asked. 

“Yes.” 

“And the money?” 

Latour pointed to the bag on the mattress. The priest 
grasped it eagerly, untied it, and began to count the 
rouleaux. 

“Light one of those absurd candles,” he said brusquely. 

The woman obeyed in silence, and the priest went care- 
fully over the rouleaux, dividing them into two parts. 

“Here is your share,” he said finally. 

The woman shook her head. 

“Keep it yourself,” she said. “I want none of it.” 

“Hone of it?” 

_ “Hone.” 

“Are you serious?” 

The woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“Take it all,” she replied. “I have no use for it. You 
Have.” 

“Diable! I should say so,” returned the priest. “Well, 
my dear Marie, I accept without ceremony — none the less 
readily because, as it happens, I have to live the rest of 


380 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

my life in the next six months, and the money will help me 
to do it to some purpose.” 

“I do not understand you.” 

“No? You have not suspected?” 

“Suspected what?” 

“Lift up that candle, my dear Marie, and you will 
see.” 

Latour, with rather a surprised air, took the lighted 
candle from the mattress and lifted it up. Pere Germont 
put aside his dark spectacles, turned back the deep hood 
from his face, and stood in front of the light. 

For a moment Latour gazed at him in bewilderment. 
Then her eyes dilated, her face became livid with terror, 
and her lips parted with a strangled shriek. 

The priest, with a hideous smile, advanced his face a 
little nearer. 

“Well?” he asked. 

The woman dropped the candle, and shrank hack to 
the wall in an agony of horror and unspeakable loathing, 
with her hand raised as if to ward off some frightful ap- 
parition. 

“Oh! my God! my God!” she gasped. “Don’t touch 
me ! don't touch me !” * 

Pere Germont laughed. LatouPs eyes closed, and she 
slid down the wall to the floor in a swoon. 

The priest replaced his spectacles, and pulled the hood 
over his face again. After securing the rouleaux in a 
belt which he wore round his waist under his monk’s 
frock, he put the sacramental vessels up in a large wallet. 
Then he glanced for a moment at the unconscious form 
of Latour lying in a heap on the floor, shrugged his shoul- 
ders, and was gone. 


Fiat Justitia 


38i 


CHAPTER XL. 

A CONFESSION. 

G WYNETT had been unable to see lord Stair through 
the latter ? s absence from Paris on a short visit to 
a friend in Touraine. As the regent was a good 
deal engaged.at Vincennes, and M. de Torcy’s return was 
still delayed, Gwynett spent a portion of his time with 
Dr. Vidal, and the rest in riding about the country. The 
day following the celebration of the messe noire at the 
Rue Beauregard, he returned to Paris about sunset, and 
had just joined the regent when M. d’Argenson was an- 
nounced. 

“I am sorry to disturb you so late, monseigneur,” said 
the lieutenant-general of police, “but a matter has cropped 
up requiring an immediate decision.” 

“Let it wait till after supper, comte,” replied the re- 
gent, “unless you can eat and tell me at the same time.” 

“By all means,” replied d’Argenson. “I can rely on 
the chevalier’s discretion, I know.” 

“Then come to supper,” said the regent. 

The meal was served in the regent’s cabinet, orders 
were given to admit no one, and the servants withdrew. 

“And now, what is your business, my dear comte?” 
asked the regent, attacking his meal with a fine appe- 
tite. 

“Do you recollect the La Voysin affair, monseigneur?” 
“Scarcely — you know I was only half a dozen years old 
at the time. But of course the matter is familiar to me. 
What of it?” 

“I have been suspecting for some time past that all that 
sort of thing has been getting into vogue again, but there 
has been nothing I could lay my hands upon. To-day, 
however, I have an actual case.” 

“Serious ?” 

“Nothing could be more so. A messe noire on an elabo- 
rate scale — in fact, quite a la Montespan.” 


382 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

"What! with a sacrifice?” 

"Yes.” 

"A child butchered?” 

"Decidedly. The celebrations held for madame de 
Montespan between 1667 and 1678, as recorded by the 
chambre ardente and my predecessor, La Reynie, seem 
to have been followed in every detail.” 

"Good heavens! this is shocking. How did you learn 
it?” 

"Curiously enough, by the confession of one of the 
chief culprits — a woman. She came to me to-day in such 
a matter-of-fact way that at first I put her down for a 
lunatic. She denounced herself and another by name, 
but refused to mention either the celebrant or the person 
who ordered the messe. The awkward thing is that the 
person she denounced is our executioner for Paris.” 

"Sanson?” asked Gwynett. 

"The same, chevalier. You know the man, if I recollect 
right.” 

"Yes. Your news strikes me as being very improbable, 
M. le comte. He is an ass, if you like, but not in the least 
a man to share in such a crime. In fact, he rather 
prides himself upon being a freethinker.” 

"He is accused of providing the candles or tapers used 
in the ceremony. It appears they have to be made of the 
fat of a pendu, and naturally he would be able to meet 
the requirements of the case.” 

"Well, what have you done?” asked the regent. 

"My agents are watching for Sanson’s return to Paris 
to-night from Mantes. As regards the woman, I let her 
go.” 

" Viable r 

"Yes — for three reasons. In the first place she posi- 
tively refused to make any further confession until she 
was confronted with Sanson. Secondlv, she is so des- 
perately in earnest about giving herself up, that I was 
satisfied tD keep watch over her shop in the Rue Beaure- 
gard. And thirdly, I wished to consult you about the 
affair as a whole. You see it is a thing: altogether out- 
side the usual course of justice — the kind of crime is 
exceptional, and judging by past experience we shall 
unearth frightful scandals. The question is, are we to 


Fiat Justitia 


383 

proceed on onr own account, or should we decide at once 
to have a special tribunal ? And is the fact of the inquiry 
to be known, or shall we try to preserve absolute secrecy? 
For my part, I told the woman to hold her tongue until 
she was asked to speak, and I am satisfied she will do so.” 

The regent went on with his meal reflectively. 

“This may after all be only an isolated case,” he sug- 
gested. “If so, the less fuss made the better. Under any 
circumstances I think publicity should be avoided.” 

“Then do you propose a special tribunal, monseign- 
eur ?” 

“Not yet. Let us see how this affair turns out. Do 
all the examining yourself, in private, and report to 
me.” 

At this moment a knock came at the door of the cabinet, 
and the regent's secretary, the abbe Tesu, entered with 
a note. 

“Monseigneur,” he said, “one of M. d’Argenson's people 
has asked that this letter may be delivered to him im- 
mediately.” 

The abbe retired, and d'Argenson opened the letter. 

“Sanson has returned,” he said. “The house is watched 
on all sides, and he can be arrested at any moment.” 

“Where does he live ?” asked the regent. 

“No 8, in the Eue St. Louis.” 

“So near?” 

The regent looked at his watch. It was about nine 
o'clock. 

“I feel disposed to hear the development of this affair 
at first hand,” he remarked. “If Sanson is in his house, 
let us send for the woman at once, and confront them 
there. Then there need be nothing to attract attention 
— no arrest, nothing to make the people in the street any 
the wiser.” 

“I see no objection to that,” replied d'Argenson. “Mv 
chief exempt is one of those now in the Eue St. Louis, 
and he can act as. secretary for us.” 

“Will you be present, chevalier ?” asked the regent, turn- 
ing to Gwvnett. 

“Willingly, monseigneur— if only because, should things 
go badly with Sanson, I shall wish to look after his little 


384 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

eon until those people at Nonancourt are consulted 
about the matter. I take it they are his only relatives.” 

“Very good. Then, comte, you had better send a closed 
carriage at once to bring away that woman from the Rue 
Beauregard to Sanson’s house. The chevalier and I will 
walk there to save time.” 

D’Argenson went off to make the arrangements sug- 
gested, while the regent and Gwynett finished their supper 
and, after putting on their hats and cloaks, set out for 
the Rue St. Louis. 

Arrived there, they found d’Argenson with one of the 
exempts who had been keeping watch over the house, and 
he came to speak to the regent. 

“Sanson has only this moment entered the house,” he 
explained. “It appears he has been gossiping on the 
doorstep until now with some acquaintance. We are go- 
ing to demand admittance.” 

At a sign from d’Argenson the exempt knocked at the 
door of No. 8. No one came to open it, and the exempt, 
putting his ear to listen, could hear Sanson’s voice, in- 
side, scolding some person with the full force of his lungs. 
The exempt was about to knock again, when the door 
opened and the old servant, Margotin, came out hurriedly, 
followed by Sanson, who looked very much out of temper. 
Margotin went off down the street, and Sanson noticed 
the exempt, who was standing close by. 

“A word with you, M. Sanson,” said the exempt. 
“These three gentlemen wish to see you for a few minutes. 
May they come in?” 

“Certainly,” replied Sanson politely. “Do me the favor 
to enter, messieurs.” 

At a sign from the exempt, d’Argenson, followed by 
the regent and Gwynett, came up and entered the house. 
A second agent strolled up from a neighboring doorway, 
and took the place of the first in the street near the house. 

Sanson recognized the three gentlemen successively with 
a good deal of surprise. But he ushered the party, with- 
out any comment, into the long room on the ground 
floor already spoken of, and placed a lamp on the table 
by the window. The moonlight shone in across the room, 
and added its radiance to the not very brilliant illumina- 
tion of the lamp. 


Fiat Justitia 


385 

Sanson drew up for the visitors four of the six chairs 
which the room contained, and asked the regent respect- 
fully, 

“What can I do for you, monseigneur?” 

The regent nodded to d’Argenson, who took a parcel 
of documents from his pocket, laid them on the table, and 
replied, 

“We are waiting the arrival of another person, M. San- 
son, in order to proceed with our business. Be good enough 
to excuse our beginning until then.” 

Sanson looked a little puzzled, but replied, 

“As you please, M. le comte.” 

The regent waved his hand, and at the sign Sanson 
seated himself on one of the remaining chairs. He had 
however hardly done so when a carriage was heard to stop 
outside the house. Then came the sound of footsteps in 
the passage, and after a knock at the door it was opened 
and two exempts ushered in Marie Latour. 

The woman stopped on seeing Sanson, and an inde- 
scribable expression flitted for a moment over his features. 
One of the exempts closed the door behind her and came 
forward to whisper to d’Argenson, who sat a little way 
apart from the regent and Gwynett. 

“Were you observed?” asked d’Argenson of the exempt 
aside. 

“No, monsieur. All was quiet. But, between ourselves, 
I doubt whether the woman is in her proper senses.” 

D’Argenson shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the 
regent, who nodded his head as a signal to begin. 

“Marie Latour,” commenced the lieutenant-general of 
police, “you have demanded to be confronted with Charles 
Sanson de Longval, with a view to furthering the ends 
of justice. He is here. What have you to say?” 

“ Diable /” growled Sanson under his breath, “this is the 
animal who objects to betraying people !” 

Latour was silent for a moment, and then addressed 
d’Argenson in a hard, constrained voice. 

“Monsieur,” she said, “I accuse myself of taking part 
in a messe noire . I accuse Charles Sanson de Longval 
of aiding this messe noire by providing two tapers made 
of the fat of a pendu .” 


3 86 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


The exempt at the table took down the woman’s words, 
and d’Argenson signed to Sanson to stand up. 

“What have you to say to that?” he asked. 

“Monsieur,” replied Sanson, angrily, “it is true that 
this woman came to me for such a pair of candles as she 
speaks of, and that I agreed to furnish them. But this 
is the first I have heard of a messe noire. She said they 
were wanted for a conjuration, or some such betise — let her 
deny that, if she dare.” 

The woman replied, without looking at Sanson — 

“I do not deny it.” 

The exempt at the table made a record of this. 

“Continue your statement,” said d’Argenson. 

“Monsieur, I was asked by one of my customers to ar- 
range for her a messe noire , and I consented. The can- 
dles were given to my customer by Charles Sanson. I 
myself secured a celebrant, who was able to provide the 
sacramental vessels and the Host. Further, I myself 
found the child who is sacrificed in the messe ” 

A shudder went through more than one of the listeners 
as the 'woman, in a hard, unmoved voice, made this 
avowal. 

“Go on,” said d’Argenson. 

“The messe took place last night, in my house, accord- 
ing to strict rule. Towards its close the child was 
sacrificed, and its blood used for the chalice. The body 
is still in the room.” 

There was a moment of horrified silence, and then 
d’Argenson said, 

“This confession is incomplete. Who is the celebrant, 
and who is your customer?” 

“Monsieur, I shall not name the celebrant.” 

D’Argenson frowned and looked at the regent. Then 
he turned again to Latour. 

“Who is the customer?” he asked. 

“Monsieur, I may or may not name the customer — 
later.” 

“What was her object in having the messe celebrated?” 

“To win a lover, monsieur.” 

“Was the lover mentioned?” 

“Yes, monsieur. But I shall not name him — at pres- 
ent.” 


Fiat Justitia 


387 


“Do you know him?” 

“I have only heard him spoken of, monsieur.” 

“Do you make any further accusation against Charles 
Sanson ?” 

“No, monsieur.” 

“Do you accuse him of knowing the full purpose for 
which the candles were required?” 

“No, monsieur.” 

“But you told him it was for a ceremony of sorcery?” 

“That is so, monsieur/’ 

“That is sufficient. Charles Sanson de Longval, you 
are arrested for complicity in sorcery and necromantic 
practices, and for perverting the functions of your office.” 

Sanson shrugged his shoulders. 

“As for the sorcery, monsieur, I regard all that as 
mere buffoonery. The messe noire is another affair al- 
together, but you see I knew nothing about that.” 

D’Argenson waved his hand, and Sanson crossed over 
behind him and stood between the two exempts. The 
woman Latour stood at a little distance from the table 
and from Sanson, and facing the rest of the party. D'Ar- 
genson turned to her again. 

“You have confessed to one act of sorcery. Are you 
guilty of complicity in any others?” 

“I have something, monsieur, to add to what I have 
said .about myself and about that man. I have waited 
until he was able to hear me say it. Will monsieur per- 
mit me to speak to him, as I may not have another oppor- 
tunity ?” 

“Not in private.” 

“I do not ask that.” 

“Well, say what you have to say.” 

The woman put her hand to her throat for a moment, 
and it could be seen to be trembling. Then she looked 
fixedly at Sanson, and drew a deep breath. 

“Charles Sanson,” she said, in a voice that seemed chok- 
ing with some intense emotion, “I have an account against 
you, have I not ? Listen to it. You have insulted me, 
neglected me, wearied of me and I have borne it. Not 
patiently — but, I have borne it. Y r ou have told me to my 
face that 1 have no longer the youth or the beauty you 
once admired. The love you swore to bear me has turned 


388 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

to indifference. Mine for yon yon have despised and 
flung aside. All this I have borne. But did you suppose 
I would bear your transports of adoration for another 
woman, or above all that I should be driven to further 
your intrigue with her, and remain satisfied?” 

She turned excitedly to the group at the table, and 
went on with raised voice and flashing eyes, 

“Messieurs, this man, who had been for years my lover, 
to whom I had always been faithful, found out that the 
customer of mine who wished for a messe noire was young 
and beautiful — in fact, he had a day or two before seen 
her. When I sought his aid to provide the candles re- 
quired for the messe , he compelled me — me — under threat 
of betraying the request to M. d’Argenson, to tell my 
customer that the price of the candles must be a visit 
to him that night. Ask him if I did not refuse — if I did 
not entreat him, threaten him, warn him ! Ask him, 
messieurs !” 

“Without doubt you did,” assented Sanson. 

Latour flashed round upon him. 

“And you were merciless, were you not? Did I not 
tell you to pray that your bargain should be refused?” 

“Something of the sort,” replied Sanson, a little uncom- 
fortably. 

“And when it was accepted, did you dream that I — I, 
Marie Latour — would see myself flouted, scorned, out- 
raged, and not revenge myself? Did you dream that you 
could rend my heart, blast my life, destroy my soul — 
and that it should cost you nothing but a smile or a sneer ?” 

The woman took a step forward, and her face assumed 
an expression of such demoniac hatred and triumph that 
Sanson recoiled in absolute terror. 

“Fool! blind fool!” she hissed, “you yourself have put 
vengeance into my hands — and I have avenged myself! 
Wretch, live in the hell you have made for me, and 
whither I go to wait for you! Be accursed, for I have 
taken the light of all your life from you ! Be accursed, for 
you are childless! Be accursed, for it was your son, 
your own son, whom I carried off to be sacrificed in the 
messe noire! Be accursed, for ever and ever!” 

The woman stopped, breathless, foaming at the mouthj 
and almost delirious. The listeners at the table sat speech- 









Fiat Justitia 


389 

less, overcome with horror, while Sanson, dazed and livid, 
sank nearly fainting into the arms of the two exempts. 
He gasped for breath, tearing convulsively at his cravat, 
and a stifled groan burst from his bloodless lips. Then 
he suddenly raised himself, and before the exempts could 
lift a hand to stay him, sprang with the bound of a tiger 
at Latour’s throat. 

“Demon !” he yelled. 

A frightful scene followed. The two exempts seized the 
woman and the man, and used their utmost efforts to free 
Latour from the deadly grip of the executioner. But the 
latter, possessed of the strength of a maniac, dragged all 
three hither and thither about the room as if they were 
so many puppets, while d’Argenson and the secretary tried 
in vain to assist the two exempts. The woman, already 
strangled, was held up by main force by her maddened 
assailant until one of his desperate struggles sent both 
of the exempts reeling against the wall behind him. The 
moment he was free Sanson, with a hoarse cry, swung 
Latour’s body twice to and fro and then dashed it with all 
his force against the fire-place in the opposite wall. The 
woman’s skull struck the stone bracket of the over-mantel. 
It was driven in like an egg-shell, and the mangled body 
fell with a dull thud across the hearthstone. 

Sanson -staggered, and stretched out his arms for guid- 
ance as if blinded. His hand came into contact with 
the back of one of the chairs, and he sank into it with a 
heart-breaking sob. His fury seemed in a moment to be 
spent and forgotten, his arms fell to his sides, and he 
burst into a storm of passionate weeping. 

“Chariot!” he moaned. “My little Chariot! My 
pretty one!” 

The group at the table exchanged glances, quite at a 
loss how to act. The two exempts leaned against the 
wall behind d’Argenson, recovering their breath and rub- 
bing the bruises they had received in the struggle. 

Nothing was said for a minute or two, and no one 
took the obviously useless step of doing anything to the 
dead body of Latour. Finally Sanson raised his head 
with an expression upon his face that was not without its 
pathetic dignity, and stood up. 

“Monseigneur,” he said, “I ask your pardon for giving 


390 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

way thus in your presence. For the rest I am at the , 
disposal of justice. Do what you like with me, and the 
sooner the better, for I have nothing left to live for.” 

“The law must take its ordinary course,” put in d’Ar- 
genson drily. 

Sanson turned to him impatiently. 

“Good Lord! M. le comte,” he exclaimed, “why plague 
yourself and me with formalities? I am here — you are 
all witnesses. Why delay? Do you imagine it will 
amuse me to be allowed time for meditation? In God’s 
name, messieurs, finish the matter and let me be at 
rest !” 

“I see no objection to that,” remarked the regent. 
“Suppose, M. d’Argenson, we constitute this a court to try 
the prisoner for the crime he has committed before our 
eyes.” 

D’Argenson shrugged his shoulders, but without any 
further demur wrote a few lines on a sheet of paper. 

“Charles Sanson de Longval,” he recited, “you are ac- 
cused of assisting in sorcery, of malfeasance in your office, 
and of murder — the latter offence being committed in the 
presence of monseigneur le regent and the rest of the 
persons now assembled here. Have you anything to say ?” 

“Nothing, monsieur, except to ask that my sentence may 
be carried out with as little delay as possible.” 

D’Argenson glanced at the regent, who turned to the 
executioner and asked, 

“Do you urge any plea for leniency, monsieur?” 

“No, monseigneur, nor do I ask for it.” 

The regent hesitated a moment, and then observed, 

“Take time, monsieur. You may change your mind.” 

Sanson shook his head. 

“You are very good, monseigneur. But the kindest 
thing you can do for me is to settle my business quickly.” 

“As you please,” replied the regent. He turned to 
d’Argenson, and said, 

“As the prisoner makes no appeal, the sentence is 
death.” 

“How soon, monseigneur?” asked Sanson. 

“To-morrow, if you like.” 

“Thank you, monseigneur.” 

D’Argenson turned to the secretary. 


Fiat Justitia 


391 


“Kecord the proceedings,” he said. 

As the exempt’s pen began to travel over the paper, the 
lamp on the table suddenly grew dim for want of oil, and 
d’Argenson remarked, 

“We shall want a candle or two.” 

One of the other exempts crossed the room to lift down 
a tall candlestick which stood on the mantel shelf, con- 
taining a half-burnt candle. He passed it to the secre- 
tary, and while the latter was trying to light it at the fail- 
ing lamp a little murmur of conversation arose. The re- 
gent exchanged a few words in a low tone with Gwyneth, 
and the two exempts whispered to each other as they 
glanced sideways at the shapeless form lying in the fire- 
place. 

Then there came a startled exclamation from d’Argen- 
son, followed by a sudden silence throughout the room. 
The secretary looked up from the table, with the still 
unlighted candle in his hand, and almost let it fall in his 
surprise. 

The door at the farther end of the room opened silently, 
unnoticed by the group at the table, and a broad band of 
moonlight, overpowering the feeble glimmer of the smoul- 
dering lamp, fell upon the opening into the dark passage 
beyond the 'portieres. 

On the top step in the doorway stood a shining figure, 
silent and motionless, upon which all eyes were fixed 
with amazement and even awe. 

It was that of a little child, beautiful as an angel, draped 
in silvery white, with golden curls falling on his shoul- 
ders. His eyes surveyed the company with a calm and 
serious air, and every man held his breath as he gazed at 
the radiant vision. 

There was a moment’s pause, and then Sanson sank to 
his knees, his face transfigured with solemn rapture, and 
his arms extended to the white figure. 

“It is his spirit,” he whispered half to himself. “Be 
at peace, little one! Thou art avenged. All is well. 
Wait in patience, for to-morrow I come to join thee.” 

A look of surprise came over the child’s face. Then 
he laughed delightedly, and bounded down the steps into 
Sanson’s arms, shouting, 

“My father! my father!” 


39 2 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The executioner’s face turned grey with the shock, and 
his heart almost stopped beating. Then the tfuth dawned 
upon him, and he clasped the child frantically in his 
arms, smothering him with hysterical caresses as he swayed 
to and fro upon his knees. 


Fiat Justitia 


393 


CHAPTER XLI. 

HOW M. SANSON WAS PAID FIVE LOUIS. 

T HE meeting of father and child was a scene which 
none of the half-dozen spectators could behold un- 
moved. Tears which he made no effort to conceal 
came into Gwynett’s eyes, and for the first time since 
hearing Latour’s atrocious confession he seemed to himself 
able to breathe freely. D’Argenson pushed back his chair, 
winked his eyes, and helped himself to an enormous pinch 
of snuff. The regent blew his nose vigorously, and then, 
looking towards the fire-place, caught sight of the body 
of Latour, by which a small pool of blood was slowly 
forming. He started slightly, and then, signing to one 
of the exempts, said sharply, 

“Cover up that carrion/ 5 

The exempt looked about, and seeing nothing else avail- 
able took off his surfout and spread it rather gingerly 
over the body, which had remained unnoticed by little 
Chariot. 

The child himself, almost breathless from the violence 
of his father’s embraces, began to prattle with cheerful 
disregard of the presence of the others. 

“You are not cross with me, my father?” he asked. 
“Margotin was very cross.” 

“She found you, then?” 

“Yes. I was at Justin’s house. But he is not there. 
Where is Justin?” 

Sanson started. 

“Justin?” he ejaculated. “Good God! now I under- 
stand— it was ” 

“Margotin brought me home,” went on the child, “and 
made me go to bed without seeing you. She said you 
were busy. But I got up to find you,” he added gleefully, 
“and I found you.” 

Sanson rose from his knees, carried the boy to the door^ 
way, and set him down, kissing him as he did so. 


394 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Go to bed now, little one,” he said. 

The child went off obediently, and his white figure dis- 
appeared into the darkness. The secretary had by this 
time lighted the candle, and he looked inquiringly at his 
chief while Sanson came slowly back to the table. 

“In this respect, M. Sanson,” remarked the regent, “it 
appears, happily, that Latour’s confession was false.” 

“She did not know that, I feel sure, monseigneur. I 
am satisfied she was misled — by a miracle of good for- 
tune.” 

“How?” 

“Monseigneur, I should like to ask M. d’Argenson if 
his police found any clothes, such as a child would wear, 
at Latour’s house ?” 

One of the exempts who had brought Latour in the 
carriage came forward, and replied, 

“Monseigneur, there was a little suit of blue velvet, 
which we took to belong to the child whose body is still 
there.” 

“That is it,” said Sanson. “She gave that suit the 
other day to my little boy, whom she did not know by 
sight. I would not let him wear it, but passed it on to a 
little playmate of his who was called Justin. Without 
doubt, monseigneur, she came after Chariot while I was 
absent at Mantes, and took away Justin by mistake.” 

“A patient of Dr. Vidal’s,” explained Gwynett to the 
regent. “It is perhaps some consolation to know that 
this poor Justin was incurably diseased, and Dr. Vidal 
had no hope of his living more than two or three months.” 

“We are forgetting one thing,” put in d’Argenson, “and 
that is that M. Sanson has murdered this woman Latour 
for nothing at all, so far as he is concerned.” 

This exposition recalled the executioner to a sense of 
the position in which he was placed by his trial and 
sentence, and he looked blankly at his judges. 

“I had forgotten,” he said despondently. “Never mind. 
The little one lives — that is everything. And I have seen 
him once again.” 

The regent interposed with a question to d’Argenson. 

“Is the carriage still at the door?” he asked. 

“Yes, monseigneur.” 

“Then let your two exempts take away that woman.” 


Fiat Justitia 


395 


“To her house?” 

“Anywhere you like.” 

D’Argenson nodded to the exempts, the ghastly heap 
of humanity was carried away, and the door closed upon 
it. The regent turned again to Sanson, who still stood 
before the table. 

“You may now, perhaps, wish to say something about 
your sentence, M. Sanson.” 

“Monseigneur, it is true things have changed — for me, 
at all events. I was wrong, it appears. But it was 
natural to believe that woman’s story, and now you have 
all seen my little Chariot, messieurs, I ask any one of 
you what you would have done in my place?” 

The regent whispered to Gwynett, 

“What would one of your juries in England think of 
that for a plea, chevalier?” 

“Monseigneur, I think they would be stupid enough 
to acquit him.” 

“Diable! you are right, and I can be as stupid as any- 
body when I choose.” 

He turned to Sanson, and asked, 

“When you have acted in your official capacity, M. San- 
son, what have been your fees?” 

The executioner looked rather surprised at the ques- 
tion, but replied, 

“M. d’Argenson will tell you, monseigneur, that for 
ordinary hangings I receive five louis a head.” 

D’Argenson nodded. 

“And for beheading ten louis. For burning alive, or 
breaking on the wheel, or hanging with drawing and 
quartering, the fee has always been twenty louis.” 

“Yes,” assented d’Argenson. “And it is very dear.” 

This reflection upon the value of his professional serv- 
ices filled the executioner with indignation. 

“Dear!” he echoed. “Tell me, M. d’Argenson, would 
you like to disembowel people for less than twenty louis 
a head?” 

“Good heavens ! no,” ejaculated d’Argenson unguardedly. 

“Very well, then,” retorted Sanson, with the air of a 
man who had quite obviously got the best of an argu- 
ment. 

“There is something in that, d’Argenson,” remarked 


396 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

the regent. “M. Sanson is an artist, and we cannot 
be picturesque at La Greve for nothing. Let me see 
your secretary’s memorandum.” 

The secretary handed over the record he had made of 
the proceedings before they were interrupted by the ap- 
pearance of little Chariot. The regent glanced over it, 
and tore it up. 

“Let us put things in another way,” he said. “Write, 
M. le secretaire, that Marie Latour, having confessed to 
acts of sacrilege, sorcery, and assassination, was this day 
sentenced to death, and duly executed in our presence by 
the executeur des hautes oeuvres du roi, and that the usual 
fee of five louis has been paid to him therefor.” 

The regent put his hand in his pocket, took out five 
louis d’or, and pushed them across the table to Sanson. 

“But, monseigneur •” objected the lieutenant-general 

of police. 

“Pooh! my dear fellow, you must allow me to be eco- 
nomical now and then. In the ordinary course of things 
I suppose the woman, Latour would have been burnt alive 
at La Greve, which would have cost us twenty louis — 
so that M. Sanson has saved us fifteen. There is nothing 
to grumble at in that.” 

Sanson looked at the golden coins with a certain irresolu- 
tion. 

“Monseigneur,” he said, “I thank you for your clem- 
ency. But as regards this money, it would go against the 
grain to take it — especially as it appears I did poor Marie 
a little injustice.” 

“You can use it for Justin’s burial,” suggested 
Gwynett. 

“Very true, monsieur. I will accept it for that.” 

Sanson pocketed the money, and the regent went on. 

“So much for that matter. But now, M. Sanson, we 
have something serious to deal with — the affair of the 
candles.” 

“Ah ! monseigneur, there I confess I was in fault. But 
I was tempted, I assure you.” 

“Every crime has that excuse, I suppose.” 

“Monseigneur, permit me to demur to the word ‘crime.’ 
I think the point is arguable.” 

“Argue it then, monsieur.” 


Fiat Justitia 


397 

“Well, monseigneur, the bodies of the pendus are my 
perquisite, and I am allowed to sell them to the relatives. 
If I may sell the whole body, I submit to you, monseign- 
eur, that I may sell a part, according to the axiom of 
M. Euclid that the greater includes the less. And if I 
may sell, surely I may give away?” 

“Not for purposes of sorcery,” objected d’Argenson. 

“M. le comte, the only sorcery I suspected was a farrago 
of nonsense, which I ridiculed.” 

“That is quite possible,” said the regent. “But it does 
not alter the fact that making candles out of people with- 
out their consent is taking a great liberty. In my case, 
for instance — supposing M. du Maine happened to get 
his own way and hand me over to M. Sanson- •” 

The lieutenant-general of police looked up perfectly 
scandalized. 

“Really, monseigneur ” he protested. 

“Tut ! tut ! we are not talking in the middle of the 
street. As I was saying, if it became M. Sanson’s duty to 
hang me, it would annoy me excessively to be put into a 
candlestick afterwards. I do not forget that I am getting 
stout, and the idea adds a new terror to corpulency. On 
the whole, M. Sanson, I think you are decidedly to blame 
in this matter.” 

“Monseigneur, I admit that I was indiscreet.” 

“It must be understood that it does not occur again, 
monsieur — temptation or no temptation.” 

“Rest assured, monseigneur, that nothing of the sort is 
possible.” 

The regent put on his hat, and looked at d’Argenson. 

“I think, comte, that we have done everything that is 
necessary.” 

“It is very irregular,” grumbled d’Argenson. “And 
M. Sanson’s precipitancy has deprived us of a most im- 
portant piece of information. Thanks to him, we do not 
know the name of the person who paid for the messe, 
and I think he is bound to assist us in finding it out.” 

Sanson made a wry face at this suggestion. 

“M. le comte,” he said, “it is true I saw the lady — 
twice, in fact. But I have not the slightest idea who 
she may be, or even whether she belongs to Paris,” 


398 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Nevertheless, if you saw her again, you would recog- 
nize her ?” 

“M. le comte, permit me to say that it might turn 
out very inconveniently if I did recognize her, and said 
so. I have heard that the fat was in the fire more than 
once in La Voysin’s time, through a little too much be- 
ing found out.” 

“That is all very well. But we have missed the cele- 
brant, too, the actual murderer.” 

“As to him, M. le comte, I know absolutely nothing. 
And seeing that Latour refused to name him, why, mon- 
sieur, if you had any conception of that woman’s ob- 
stinacy ” 

The regent rose, and gathered his cloak round him. 

“It is getting late,” he said. “These details can be gone 
into another time. I need not urge upon all present that 
nothing must transpire of what has occurred to-night.” 

At a sign from d’Argenson, the secretary took up his 
papers, and went out as an advance guard. The re- 
gent followed with d’Argenson, and Gwynett brought up 
the rear. As they were passing through the hall, San- 
son whispered in Gwynett’s ear, 

“M. le chevalier, permit me to say a word to you.” 

“What is it?” asked Gwynett. 

“Monsieur, if I did not choose to give any information to 
monseigneur le regent, it was because he knows every 
pretty woman in Paris, and it might be embarrassing 
for him to have one of his acquaintances burnt alive at 
La Greve. But for you, M. le chevalier, I have a little 
hint to give. If you happen to meet the most beautiful 
woman you can imagine, and you see two little moles be- 
hind her right ear, one above the other — then you will 
know it is the lady of the messe noire ” 

“I devoutly hope it will never happen,” replied Gwynett, 
as he passed on to rejoin the regent. 

At the street door the party separated, and the re- 
gent returned to the Palais-Royal with Gwynett. San- 
son shut the door on his self-invited guests, and went 
back to extinguish the light in the room they had just 
left. 

“All’s well that ends well,” he reflected philosophically. 
“Perhaps after all I was a little hasty with poor Marie. 


Fiat Justitia 


399 


She was severely devoted to me, without question, and 
that sort of thing gets very wearisome in time. Never- 
theless, I was hasty, I admit/’ 

He took the candle from the table, and was leaving the 
room when he stopped opposite the fire-place, his eyes 
caught by the crimson stain which had spread about near 
the hearthstone. 

“What a mess!” he ejaculated ruefully. “I must have 
that got rid of, or Chariot will be asking questions. It 
was lucky he saw nothing.” 


400 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XLII. 

AN INVITATION. 

E ARLY the next morning Gwynett took an opportu- 
nity, which had not conveniently presented itself be- 
fore, of recounting to the regent the circumstances 
of Gaultier’s suicide, and of the attacks the abbe had made 
upon his life at different times. To all of this the regent 
listened with a good deal of surprise. 

“I presume madame de Yalincour knows nothing of 
this last affair/ he remarked. “Do you propose to tell 
her?” 

“Ho, monseigneur. Neither M. Gaultier’s nor my own 
share in these matters was one I care to bring under 
her notice, and so far as I am concerned I would prefer 
that the news of her brother’s death reached her from 
some other source. It would be quite easy for captain 
Kermode to report that his passenger was lost in the 
wreck of the schooner, without going into any details.” 

“Probably you are right, chevalier. Certes , your silence 
at present would save madame de Valincour and yourself 
from any little embarrassment on the score of M. l’abbe’s 
perseverance in the role of assassin. I take it there were 
no papers or property of his saved from the wreck?” 

“None. I asked about that. He came on board with 
a valise, but it must either have been blown up with the 
poop-cabin, or washed overboard when we struck.” 

A little later lord Stair was announced, and he greeted 
Gwynett very warmly, expressing his regret that his ab- 
sence from Paris had prevented an earlier meeting. 
Gwynett inquired after the countess and her son, and 
found that both were doing exceedingly well. 

“The countess hopes you will not leave Paris without 
her seeing and thanking you personally, chevalier. By. 
the way, you will be glad to hear that I have had your 
pardon from the crown in my desk for the last three 
days. I ought to have sent word to monseigneur le 
regent when it arrived, but I forgot at the moment. The 


Fiat Justitia 


40 r 


long delay in sending it was lucky in one respect, in that 
it enabled me to report the actual return to England of 
Mr. Dorrington, the supposed victim. I had heard of 
that from M. de Torcy. Naturally, that settled the busi- 
ness.” 

“I am greatly indebted for your help in the matter, 
my lord. But I shall still be glad of your good offices 
to have my friend Wray and myself secured against any 
proceedings arising out of the recent insurrection.” 

“You found your friend, then?” 

“Yes, and induced him at once to sever his connection 
with the Jacobite rising. Unfortunately we were both 
taken prisoners and robbed of your safe-conducts before 
we could get back to England. The fact that we escaped 
again does not enable us to show ourselves in public in 
England — hence my call at your hotel on my arrival here.” 

“You may consider all that settled, chevalier. I will 
send you the pardon and the other papers at once. May 
I ask if you now resume your own name?” 

“When I return to England, my lord. It is hardly 
worth while troubling people here with the explanations 
which any change would involve. Apart from that, it 
happens to be a convenient juncture for my re-baptism, 
for amongst some letters which I have found awaiting 
me here was one from my uncle the baron von Starhem- 
berg. It appears there is now a genuine chevalier de 
Starhemberg, six months old, who has put my nose out 
of joint. Thus it is high time for me to become Ambrose 
Gwynett again.” 

After some further chat, Dubois entered and the am- 
bassador went away. 

The abbe was now informed, of course for the first time, 
of Gwynett’s change of name and of the intended resump- 
tion of his proper one. 

“That is now no secret, then, M. le chevalier?” he 
asked. 

“No secret, M. Pabbe. But you will see I should have 
to explain myself to death if the story got about before I 
leave Paris. So I rely on your discretion.” 

“ Certes ” said the abbe. “But milord Stair will proba- 
bly let the cat out of the bag all the same, for the benfit 
of the lion-hunters.” 


402 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“I am going to keep the chevalier all day in the labora- 
tory as a precaution,” said the regent. “But he will 
have to defend himself from his own resources to-night, 
as I have to be at Vincennes again.” 

The abbe in his turn went away, and the regent spent 
the greater part of the day with Gwynett in the labora- 
tory. The two dined alone together after the day’s ex- 
perimentation was concluded, and while at the table a 
note was brought to Gwynett from madame de Valin- 
cour. It ran : 

“Dear M. le chevalier, 

“The few details which monseigneur has given me of 
your recent adventures have filled me with curiosity to 
hear more. If your leisure permits you to waste an hour 
or two in enacting the part of romancer for my benefit, 
I shall be at home this evening. 

“Yvonne de Valincour/’ 

Gwynett bethought him that the regent had spoken of 
going to Vincennes that night. He connected this cir- 
cumstance with the comtesse’s invitation, and looked at 
the note in his hand with a certain indefinable suspicion. 
Finally, he passed it across the table to the regent, and 
asked carelessly, 

“Have you any message for madame la comtesse, mon- 
seigneur ?” 

The regent glanced at the note, and replied with per- 
fect indifference, 

“Do not let the comtesse tire you to death, chevalier. 
Your stories are really more entertaining than M. Gal- 
land’s — as I think I remarked before — and you will be 
made to talk forever. A propos of M. Galland, the 
comtesse must show you her boudoir, which she has 
furnished on the model of his f Arabian Nights.’ For my- 
self, I shall continue to prefer Paris to Bagdad until I 
can find a Mesrour and a Giafar to take the place of all 
my imbecile councils of state.” 

Gwynett had promised to spend an hour with Dr. Vidal, 
and took his departure to keep that appointment before 
calling upon the comtesse de Valincour. A few minutes 
after he had left, Dubois entered the regent’s cabinet 


Fiat Justitia 


403 

with his hands full of despatches, and sat down without 
ceremony to help himself to coffee. 

“M. de Torcy returns to-night, I find,” he announced. 
“His steward has just come on in advance to the hotel 
Croissy.” 

“All the better,” replied the regent. “M. de Starhem- 
berg is waiting to see him, as you know.” 

“Yes. It was madame de Lavalaye who gave me the 
news, and I asked her to tell the marquis that the chev- 
alier was here. She was at madame de Valincour’s.” 

“You saw the comtesse, then ?” 

“For a few minutes only — I came away when madame 
de Lavalaye arrived. Curiously enough the comtesse hap- 
pened to ask me what was M. de Starhemberg’s Christian 
name. I told her I had only known it half an hour, and 
as it is not now a dead secret I took it she might as well 
know his surname as well.” 

“Ah ! you spoke of that ?” 

“Merely the fact. I said the chevalier could tell her his 
story better than I could.” 

“I suppose nothing has reached her ears about this 
messe noire business? She used to be a pretty regular 
customer of the woman Latour.” 

“No. Evidently the affair has been quite hushed up.” 

The abbe finished his coffee, and busied himself with 
his despatches, handing one occasionally across the table 
for the perusal of the regent. 

The latter ruminated over what had been said by the 
abbe: 

“I should rather like to know,” he said to himself, “if 
the worthy Gaultier took his sister into his confidence re- 
specting his various attempts to murder M. Gwynett. 
If he did, it will be a little curious. For she knows now, 
what she could not have known before, that the chevalier 
de Starhemberg of her acquaintance and the Ambrose 
Gwynett whom her brother found so much in the way are 
one and the same person. If she were a Corsican, now, 
that would make it healthier for the chevalier not to ac- 
cept the invitation she sent just now. And. if she is 
not a Corsican, she comes from Languedoc, which is next 
door.” 


404 


Gwynett of Thornhaugh 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

SILENT WITNESSES. 

W HEN Gwynett, an hour or two l^ter, was ushered 
into the Arabesque boudoir of madame de Valin- 
cour’s hotel, he looked round with astonishment 
and admiration. 

A munificent present from the dey of Algiers to the re- 
gent, consisting of gold and silver vessels, inlaid Sara- 
cenic furniture, and embroidered hangings, had origi- 
nally suggested to the comtesse the idea of having an 
Oriental apartment, and in its development she had had 
the assistance of the famous Orientalist and translator 
of “The Thousand and One Nights,” M. Antoine Gal- 
land. The result was a scene into which Haroun Alraschid 
and Zobeide might have wandered without finding them- 
selves very much out of place. 

A floor of white marble with tesselated borders was 
strewn with Persian and Indian rugs, couches and sofas 
heaped up with enormous satin cushions occupied three 
sides of the room, and vases of porcelain filled with palms 
and flowers stood in each corner. The domed ceiling 
was canopied with blue silk, embroidered with stars, and 
the sandal-wood fretwork of the walls was studded with 
sparkling facets of amethyst and chrysoprase. A little 
fountain of perfumed water rose from the silver stem of 
an alabaster basin in the middle of the room, and splashed 
back into a miniature tank in the marble floor, in which 
goldfish darted hither and thither, and white blooms of 
nenuphars floated on the wavelets. Half a dozen Moorish 
lamps threw a subdued rose-colored light around the 
room, and the open windows were draped with netted hang- 
ings of beadwork, which rustled softly when the- warm 
air of the summer night swayed them to and fro. 

Gwynett was left alone for two or three minutes after 
the door by which he had entered had been noiselessly 


Fiat Justitia 


405 


closed behind him. Facing him was another doorway with 
portieres. Presently these were parted, and the comtesse 
stood in the opening. 

She wore a dress of Indian silk, less Oriental than 
classic in its fashion, and her shoulders were wreathed 
with a filmy draping of .gossamer-like lace in many folds. 
Closing the door behind the portieres , she came forward 
and greeted her guest with a ravishing smile. 

“Ah, M. le chevalier ! You have come delightfully 
early — thank you for being good enough to excuse my 
unceremonious note. You have not seen my boudoir be- 
fore, I believe. Criticise it, please.” 

Gwynett expressed his very genuine admiration of the 
room and its contents, and added, 

“Of course, madame, I saw the Alhambra while I was 
in Spain, and studied it with much interest. That enables 
me in some small measure to appreciate the knowledge 
and taste displayed in the arrangements of this room. 
Certainly I have nowhere seen anything so luxurious and 
at the same time so charming. Only it makes one feel 
inclined to apologize for not appearing in a turban and 
burnous, or the garb of the Commander of the Faith- 
ful.” 

“I accept your compliments on behalf of M. Galland, 
to whom they are solely due, M. le chevalier.” 

The comtesse seated herself among the cushions at one 
end of a double sofa, and motioned to Gwynett to follow 
h^ example. 

“Rather curiously, chevalier,” she said, “I heard this 
afternoon from M. Dubois that you have been mystifying 
us all this time about your real name — doubtless for 
excellent reasons, although the abbe did not mention them. 
I do not wish to be indiscreet, and only refer to the mat- 
ter now in order that I may know how you prefer to be 
called?” 

“It is quite immaterial, madame. Both in Paris and 
at Munich I have been called so habitually by my uncle’s 
name that it has become second nature to me. But recent 
circumstances have made it undesirable for me to use it 
— in England, at all events.” 

“And your real name is ?” 

“Ambrose Gwynett, madame.” 


406 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The comtesse remained silent a moment, evidently cast- 
ing about in her memory. 

“Chevalier, the name seems not unknown to me. But 
I cannot call to mind when or where I heard it.” 

Gwynett was not at all desirous of assisting the com- 
tesse’s recollection, and accordingly replied, 

“Very probably, madame, it was used inadvertently by 
M. de Torcy or one of M. Daguerre’s family. They all 
knew me first under that name.” 

“Possibly. But if you have no objection, I find it easier 
to call you chevalier, as I have always done.” 

“By all means, madame.” 

The comtesse smiled, and dismissed the subject from her 
mind. 

“You have had some lucky escapes lately, chevalier, ac- 
cording to monseigneur’s account of you. It would have 
made me very uncomfortable if I had known the risks 
you were running. Would you be astonished, chevalier, 
if I told you I have very few friends, and that I have 
always flattered myself I might consider you among the 
very elect?” 

“I find that difficult to believe, madame.” 

“Why, chevalier? You must have been rather accus- 
tomed to ingratitude, one would think. Do you suppose 
I should forget that our acquaintance began with your 
saving my life?” 

“Madame, I am ashamed to be reminded of such a 
trifle.” 

“Ah, chevalier ! that is not complimentary.” 

“Or I should say, madame, that you overrate the merit 
of a service which anyone could and would have rendered 
quite as readily as myself.” 

“It is clear, chevalier, that you derive no special satis- 
faction from the fact that it was I in particular to whom 
the service was rendered.” 

“Nay, madame, you have always been too kind for 
that.” 

The comtesse fixed her splendid eyes upon Gwynett, and 
replied, with a shade of reproach in her tone, 

“You have never been forward to receive any kindness 
from me, chevalier. Why is that ?” 

“Madame, you have many demands upon your time. It 


Fiat Justitia 


407 


it no secret that you interest yourself in public affairs, 
and that you are more devoted to politics than society.” 

“That is partly true. But society is one thing, and the 
companionship of one’s dearest friends another. Ap- 
parently it has not been worth your while, chevalier, to 
draw that distinction.” 

Gwynett recognized that the conversation was becoming 
very direct. 

“All this is not said for nothing,” he debated within 
himself. “Let us see what is expected of me.” 

He replied with a smile, 

“Ah, madame ! you affect to blame me for not venturing 
on a hardihood which you would have been the first to 
resent had I presumed so far on your indulgence.” 

“You have studied me very ill, chevalier, if you have 
not discovered that I am of a forgiving disposition.” 

The comtesse raised herself, unwound and threw aside 
her wrap, and leaned back again upon her cushions. It 
could now be seen that she was wearing only a sort of 
Greek robe of soft Tussore silk, opening widely from 
the throat nearly to the waist, and girdled there with a 
narrow belt of embroidered silk. So attired, no odalisque 
of an Eastern seraglio could have more picturesquesly un- 
veiled before her lord the beauties of her face and form. 

“Chevalier,” she said, “will you do me the favor to fan 
me? The last few evenings have been warm enough for 
genuine Arabian Nights.’ ” 

Gwynett took the fan held out to him, and used it as had 
been requested, while the comtesse lay back with her eyes 
half closed and a smile of contentment upon her features. 

“That is delicious,” she murmured. 

Gwynett began to speculate seriously upon what was 
likely to be forthcoming. 

“The deuce !” he thought, “I am afraid St. Anthony 
would have come off rather badly here. If all madame’s 
male visitors are received in this fashion, monseigneur is 
not called ‘Philippe le debonnaire’ for nothing. On the 
other hand, if all this is for my special benefit, some diplo- 
macy will be wanted to escape without a little fuss. I be- 
gin to suspect that I was an ass to come.” 

The comtesse looked round, and her eyes fell upon a 
stool near the sofa. 


408 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

"Chevalier,” she said, "I am sure it must tire your arm 
to fan me from where you are sitting. Please bring that 
stool, and sit nearer.” 

Gwynett did as directed, and placed the stool in the spot 
indicated by the finger of the comtesse. This was suf- 
ficiently close to her to be within reach of her hand. 
Gwynett resumed his fanning. 

"It is quite clear,” he said to himself, "that my capture 
is resolved upon. It is of no use expecting that we shall 
be interrupted — that will certainly have been provided 
against. I must wait till things get inconveniently press- 
ing, and then have a fit or something. To pose as a J oseph 
would complicate matters furiously, and it would be em- 
barrassing for monseigneur to have to choose between two 
contradictory and equally disagreeable stories — which is 
probably what it would end in.” 

The comtesse sat up, resting her arm on the cushions, 
and holding out the other hand for the fan. 

"Many thanks, chevalier,” she said, as she took it and 
laid it aside. "I will release you now — I am quite cool.” 

Gwynett made a movement to rise, but the comtesse 
stretched out her hand, and laid it on his shoulder. 

"Please sit still, chevalier,” she said, smiling. "I want 
to ask you another favor.” 

"What is it, madame?” 

"I have heard from monseigneur that you have some 
curious gifts of one sort or another. Are you skilled in 
reading the lines of the hand ? If so, tell me my fortune ?” 

She took her hand from his shoulder and placed it on 
his open palm with a gesture that was almost a caress. 

"I have never studied the art, madame.” 

"I have. But the books on the subject are very ob- 
scure — to me, at all events.” 

The comtesse turned away her head at the moment to 
indicate by her glance a heap of quaint old volumes on a 
table near the sofa. GwynetPs eyes followed the glance, 
and then rented on the back of her head, where her hair 
was drawn up in Greek fashion into a massive coil over 
the nape of the neck. 

It was the right side of her head which was towards him, 
and his eyes fell upon two little moles behind the ear, one 
above the other, 


Fiat Justitia 


409 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

EUTHANASIA. 

T HE words which Sanson had whispered to him flashed 
through Gwynett's mind, and he could not avoid 
starting at the revelation. 

“Good God!” he thought, “this is the woman of the 
messe noire!” 

The comtesse turned her head quickly. 

“You started then, chevalier — why?” 

For a moment Gwynett could not find words to speak. 
Then, controlling himself with an effort, he replied, 

“Madame, it was an inspiration. I think now I may 
perhaps be able to interpret the lines of your hand.” 
“That is charming. Please begin.” 

Gwynett bent over the comtesse’s open palm. 

“Madame, before I hazard a guess at the future, I ought 
to endeavor to decipher the past. Have I your permis- 
sion ?” 

“Why not ? But you do not need my hand for that.” 
“Madame, the hand is useful because it reveals not only 
the past and the future, but the character, the desires, the 
powers of the person to whom it belongs.” 

“You claim a good deal more than the average fortune- 
teller, chevalier, and I begin to be sceptical.” 

“Let us see, madame. In the lines of this hand I read 
great ambitions, great projects, great deeds.” 

“Go on.” 

“I read contempt for conventional scruples when they 
would hinder the steps you think necessary to carry out 
your plans. I read terrible resolves. I read frightful 
dangers encountered without hesitation or fear.” 

“Go on.” 

“Have I not said enough, madame?” 

“Hot if you can say anything more.” 

“It might displease you, madame.” 


410 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Do you think I am so easily displeased, chevalier?” 

“I hesitate, madame.” 

The comtesse shrugged her shoulders. 

“Confess, chevalier, that your revelations are exhausted.” 

“If you will it, madame.” 

“I do not will it. Go on, chevalier.” 

“Madame, I see a line here which speaks of blood.” 

The hand which Gwynett held in his own began to 
iremble slightly. 

“Chevalier, it is certain that if you are not a magician, 
you have a wonderful knack of guessing.” 

Gwynett looked up at the comtesse, and found her eyes 
fixed upon his face with an indefinable expression in which 
anxiety, tenderness, and defiance seemed mingled together. 

“And you say that all this is true?” she went on. 

“Not in the least, madame. It is your hand that says 
so.” 

The comtesse remained silent so long that Gwynett re- 
marked, 

“I have offended you, madame, I fear.” 

The comtesse looked at him for a moment as if she had 
not heard the words, and then asked, 

“What else, chevalier, does my hand tell you?” 

“It tells me, madame, that to gain the end I spoke of it 
has dealt out death — death to the helpless, confiding, and 
innocent. How often, I cannot see — as yet. Shall I read 
further, madame?” 

An expression of wonder and vague disquietude passed 
for a moment over the face of the comtesse, and she gave a 
little sigh. 

“Strange!” she murmured, half to herself. 

Then she suddenly leaned forward, grasped Gwynett’s 
hand in both her own. and looked into his face with a 
yearning intentness which almost startled him. 

“And if it were so, chevalier, should I therefore be hate- 
ful in your eyes?” she asked, in a low voice. 

“Madame,” cried Gwynett, reproachfully, “nothing could 
make you hateful.” 

“Not a crime. Not even many crimes?” 

“No one should judge another, madame. Crime or no 
crime, you would always be what you are.” 

“Ah ! chevalier, what a woman may be to one, or two, or 


Fiat Justitia 


411 

a hundred, is nothing. She will always ask, what is she 
to the man she loves? And none the less if she had loved 
for weeks and months and years without return and almost 
without hope — because to love thus, chevalier, is to be alone 
in the midst of throngs, to be defeated when most tri- 
umphant, to fail in spite of success almost beyond one’s 
wildest dreams !” 

“Doubtless it may be so, madame.” 

“Think, chevalier — that a woman who once, before she 
loved, may have been ambitious for herself, becomes doubly, 
trebly ambitious for her lover — that she yearns to offer him 
something that would make her more than herself, more 
than thousands of the highest in all lands, more than most 
women who wear crowns upon their brows. Think that 
for such a woman, with such ambition and such a love, 
crime is a word, and only a word. Death ! What is death ? 
How many deaths go to make the glory of a Conde, a 
Turenne, a Marlborough ? Are a woman’s ambition and a 
woman’s love to stand still before a thing that every soldier 
laughs to scorn ? Ah, chevalier ! if you were loved by such 
a woman, and with such a love ■” 

The comtesse stopped, her voice breaking with passion- 
ate earnestness as she opened her arms and held them out 
towards Gwynett with a gesture of appeal whose meaning 
no man could possibly affect to misapprehend. 

Gwynett knelt by the side of the couch, and the comtesse, 
with a little cry of delight, linked her hands caressingly 
behind his neck. 

“Ah, chevalier !” she murmured, “at all events I have not 
frightened you away. But confess that you would wish me 
a little less in earnest, and a little more like other women?” 

“Comtesse, I confess that I think you have been exag- 
gerating your misdeeds, if there are any, just to try me. 
Now that you see how little I judge you by ordinary stand- 
ards, you must plead guilty to imposing upon me.” 

The comtesse shook her head. 

“You are wrong, chevalier, and I would rather have a 
lover who knows all the truth than one who loves me in 
ignorance.” 

“I have never sought to know anything, comtesse.” 

“Yes. But till you know what I have been, and what I 
have done, you do not know me.” 


412 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Whatever I knew, it would make no shadow of differ- 
ence, madame, believe me.” 

“I wish to believe, chevalier. But — I doubt.” 

“Test me, madame.” 

“Will you be my confessor, and hear my self -accusa- 
tion ?” 

“If you wish it, comtesse. But to please you — not to 
please myself.” 

“Be it so. Listen, then, chevalier. What you have read 
in my hand, or in my heart — for in truth, after the things 
I have heard of you, I know not what other strange powers 
you may possess ” 

“I claim none, madame. Be assured of that.” 

“But you do not deny? Never mind — whether you 
guess, or whether you divine, you are wholly right. I have 
had great ambitions, as you said — the alnbition of wielding 
power has been, perhaps, the greatest of them. Twice I 
have sought to achieve empire. The first time — when I was 
at the court of Spain, where I expected to succeed easily — 
I failed. The second time, success appeared almost im- 
possible. But I have not failed — yet.” 

“You are speaking in riddles, madame.” 

“Easily solved, chevalier. At Madrid, I sought to rule 
Spain, through the king. Here in Paris, five years ago, I 
determined to rule France through the only man I could 
hope to influence — M. d’Orleans. Therefore I # determined 
from the first to put M. d’Orleans where he himself could 
rule — on the throne, or over the throne.” 

“But how, madame? Monseigneur was very far then 
from having any prospect either of the regency or the 
crown.” 

“That is my confession, chevalier. All those — except 
the little king — who stood between M. d’ Orleans and power, 
I removed — M. de Bourgogne, madame de Bourgogne, M. 
de Berri, and, by inadvertence, the little due de Bretagne 
also. Thus monseigneur is regent. Now, chevalier, you 
understand.” 

“It seems incredible, madame.” 

“Nay, chevalier, it was only a question of opportunity, 
and for opportunity I was always prepared. When one was 
not given me, I made it.” 


Fiat Justitia 


4i3 

“Then all these were really poisoned, madame, as people 
said at the time ?” 

“Yes.” 

“And by yon, madame ?” 

“By me.” 

“You have not lacked courage, madame.” 

“Any woman has courage who loves power, chevalier.” 

“And the future — is monseigneur to remain regent, or 
become king?” 

“He shall become king the moment M. Dubois and I can 
bring about war with Spain — which will be in six months. 
That will make Philippe of Spain impossible, and the little 
king will no longer serve any purpose.” 

“All this is marvellous, madame.” 

“Only marvellous, chevalier? Does it not startle you, 
repel you ? Speak frankly.” 

“I am only filled with admiration, madame. You have 
always been an adorable woman, but I am ashamed to see 
how little I have done you justice.” 

“Then you absolve and forgive me, chevalier?” 

“Madame, it is I who should ask pardon for being so 
long blind to your goodness to me.” 

“Your blindness, chevalier, dates from the day we first 
met — in the courtyard of Versailles. Did you not guess 
that?” 

“Never, madame.” 

“Before that meeting, believe me, I had had only one 
idea about love. It had always seemed to me a useful 
thing — on the part of other people. A madness of theirs, 
to be turned to account or ignored, as best suited my pur- 
pose. But from that day, chevalier, I knew in my heart 
of hearts that I was even as the men and women I had 
used, played with, or despised. And if I hungered and 
thirsted for power as never I had done before it was be- 
cause power alone would make it possible to seek you, to 
find you, to win you.” 

“Madame, you kept your secret too well.” 

“Nay, chevalier, I betrayed it — once, at all events. Did 
they tell you that one night at M. de Torcy’s, when mon- 
seigneur suddenly announced your death at St. Malo, the 
shock was too great for me, and I fainted ? That was why, 


414 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

when you called next day to say farewell, I refused to see 
you.” 

"It was cruel, madame, for that farewell might have 
been forever.” . ' 

"You went on a hazardous enterprise, chevalier? 

"Yes, madame. But I had an urgent object, and risk 
was unavoidable.” 

"Promise me, chevalier, that in future you will not seek 
danger.” 

"On the contrary, madame, it is I who should ask you not 
to run needless risks.” 

"How, chevalier?” 

"Madame, it is a matter of common notoriety that the 
symptoms of .the deaths of all those whom you have de- 
stroyed were identical. From the moment Louis XV. dies 
in the same way, suspicion will point to you, who have so 
much to gain by his death, and who alone were of the 
household both of M. de Bourgogne and M. de Berri.” 

"I have thought of all that, chevalier, and depend upon 
it, no one shall suspect anything.” 

"It would take a good deal to reassure me on that point, 
madame. So much so that I would urge you to be satisfied 
with monseigneur as regent, instead of seeking to make 
him king.” 

"The regency is too precarious, chevalier, believe me — 
and besides, it can only last half a dozen years at the best. 
As to the risk, there is none, and I will show you why.” 

The comtesse rose from the couch, and walked across the 
room to a cabinet, from a secret drawer of which she took 
out a tiny leather box. In this was the little phial which 
Marie Latour had left on the occasion of her last visit but 
one. The comtesse came back with it in her hand, and re- 
sumed her place on the sofa. 

"The poison I used formerly,” she said, "was the only 
one I possessed, and I obtained it at Madrid from a man 
who has been dead some years. But fortunately, within 
the last few days, I have secured something entirely new. 
only just discovered, which was to go as a curiosity to mon- 
seigneur. Naturally I decided to keep it for myself. It is 
quite unknown to the world, is instantly fatal, and leaves 
no trace behind. There will therefore be no occasion, you 
see, for people to make comparisons, because there will be 


Fiat Justitia 


4*5 

nothing to compare. Yon are a chemist, chevalier, so it is 
easy for yon to say if this can be recognized.” 

She held ont the phial to Gwynett, who took it and 
opened the stopper. 

A strong scent of the fragrance of peach-blossom floated 
ont npon the air, and overpowered for a moment the per- 
fnme of the little fountain which was splashing in its basin 
in the middle of the bondoir. 

“ Judging by the smell, madame,” replied Gwynett, “I 
should say it was unknown to me. After what you have 
described, it might perhaps be as well not to see what it 
tastes like.” 

The comtesse snatched the phial quickly from Gwynett’ s 
hand, replaced the stopper tightly, and put it back in the 
box on her lap. 

“That is too dreadful a jest, chevalier,” she said, with a 
little laugh. “You must submit to bridle your ardor for 
experiment while you are my guest. But you see I was 
right. This will keep people quite in the dark, if chemists 
like yourself find it unfamiliar. As for the doctors who 
are not chemists, what does it matter?” 

“Madame, I have nothing to say.” 

“Then I have satisfied you?” 

“Entirely, madame.” 

The comtesse gave a little sigh. Then with a smile she 
half raised herself, signed to Gwynett to put his arm be- 
hind her, and rested her head on his shoulder as he con- 
tinued to kneel beside the couch. She lifted his right hand, 
kissed it, and placed it on her breast, murmuring, 

“You have all my heart, chevalier. Tell me, is it worth 
having ?” 

A mist came before Gwynett’ s eyes, and for a moment 
his pulse beat so furiously that he felt almost suffocated. 

“Certainly I have no time to lose,” he said to himself. 

Then he replied to the comtesse, in a voice which sounded 
strange even to his own ears, 

“Madame, I swear to you that nothing but death shall 
part us.” 

The comtesse smiled as she looked up into Gwynett’s 
face. 

“Ah, chevalier !” she said, “that is said like a lover in- 
deed.” 


416 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

She closed her eyes, and rested her head again on Gwy- 
neths shoulder. 

A silence fell upon the little room, broken only by the 
splashing of the fountain and the occasional sound of a bell 
from some distant clock tower. Gwyneths glance travelled 
round the walls, patterned by the shadows cast from the 
jewelled lanterns, and fell upon the rustling beadwork of 
the window-curtains, swaying to and fro in the warm night 
wind. Then he bent his face over the head of the comtesse, 
and breathed upon it slowly and steadily. 

A minute or two passed. The comtesse heaved a sigh of 
contentment, half opened and then closed the lids of her 
violet eyes, and pressed Gwyneths hand to her breast. 

A time-piece on a bracket near them struck half-past 
eleven. The comtesse started slightly at the sound, but her 
eyes remained closed. 

Gwynett continued to breathe upon her head as it rested 
on his shoulder. Soon her bosom began to rise and fall 
with deep and regular inspirations, and her face assumed 
the calm of profound sleep. 

He lifted his right hand gently. The comtesse took no 
notice, and the hand with which she had been clasping 
Gwynett’s sank slowly to her side on the couch. 

Silence reigned unbroken, and the calm breathing of the 
comtesse scarcely disturbed the almost perfect stillness of 
her recumbent form. From the house no sound of any kind 
had come during the evening. 

Gwynett raised his head, and with a couple of the fingers 
of his right hand rubbed gently the top of the comtesse* s 
forehead, among the roots of her hair. Her eyes slowly 
opened, and she heaved a deep sigh. 

Gwynett took the phial out of the leather case where it 
rested on the lap of the comtesse, and passed it over to his 
left hand to hold while he withdrew the stopper. Then he 
said in a low, firm voice, 

“You hear me, madame?” 

“Yes.” 

“You will obey me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then listen. You will feel nothing, suffer nothing, 
know nothing.” 

“Yes.” 


Fiat Justitia 


4i7 


“Lift your hand” 

The comtesse raised her left hand. Gwynett placed the 
phial between her fingers, and said. 

“Drink, madame.” 

The fingers of the comtesse closed round the phial, and 
she began to raise it to her lips. Then an expression of 
doubt and bewilderment came into her eyes, and her brow 
contracted. 

“I— I ■” 

“Be at peace. Drink.” 

The face of the comtesse became calm again. She put 
the phial to her lips, and drank. Then her eyes closed, and 
her head sank down again. As it descended, the last 
remaining drops of the poison fell from the phial upon her 
breast, and stood in trembling spheres upon the ivory skin. 
Her fingers relaxed their hold, and as the phial rolled over 
the edge of the couch to the floor, the scent of peach- 
blossoms spread again through the still air. 

Gwynett’s heart almost ceased to beat as he gazed intently 
at the face and form resting so peacefully in his embrace. 
The comtesse lay perfectly still. For a moment or two she 
breathed as before, her bosom rose and fell, and one or two 
of the drops rolled swiftly down under her silken bodice 
and disappeared. 

Then the movement ceased. 

The color left the coral lips, and even in the rosy light 
from the hanging lamps it seemed to Gwynett that the 
dazzingly fair skin had suddenly become a still paler ivory. 

Making an effort, he laid his hand upon her heart to feel 
if it still pulsated. All was still. 

With trembling fingers he drew the filmy folds of the 
bodice across the rounded breasts, lifted and put away 
with a shudder the case which had held the phial, and 
waited. 

He still knelt with his left arm round the comtesse, sup- 
porting her head and shoulders, and he felt his burden 
grow slowly colder and colder till its icy weight became 
painful to endure. But the spell of a terrible deed rested 
upon him, and there seemed almost a sacrilege in disturb- 
ing the repose of the silent and rigid form still embraced 
by his arm and pillowed upon his heart. 

Several minutes passed. The silence deepened, and the 


4 1 8 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

light from the expiring lamps became dimmer. The little 
fountain sank down and disappeared. Gwynett remained 
motionless. 

The stroke of midnight sounded from the clock on the 
bracket, and was echoed faintly from some distant church- 
tower. As the tones died away a slight noise caught 
Gwynett’s ear, and he raised his head. 

Footsteps came up behind him, and the voice of the 
regent was heard over his shoulder. 

“My dear M. Gwynett,” he said, “you have a method of 
despatching your friends to hell which is perfectly charm- 
ing. I make you my compliments.” 



m 


i: 








— 

. 










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Fiat Justitia 


419 


CHAPTER XLY. 

AFTERWARDS. 

A T the regent’s words Gwynett withdrew his al- 
most numbed arm from behind the comtesse, allowed 
her head to sink gently back upon the cushions, and 
looked up inquiringly at the speaker. 

The regent stood for some moments with arms folded, 
and an indefinable expression upon his face, as he gazed 
silently at the still form before him. Then he picked up 
the phial and its case, put them in his pocket, and re- 
marked, 

“I think, chevalier, it would be well for us to discover 
that something has happened to the comtesse, and to send 
for Dr. Vidal — who is sufficiently sharpsighted to see noth- 
ing when desirable.” 

He placed the comtesse’s lace wrap round her shoulders, 
as she had first worn it, and rang a bell. It was answered 
by the maid Ninette. 

“Send for Dr. Vidal at once,” said the regent. “Madame 
has had some sort of seizure, and is unconscious.” 

The maid disappeared hurriedly, and a minute or two 
afterwards came back with the house-steward. 

“Can we he of any assistance, monseigneur?” she asked. 
“I am afraid not. We must wait for the doctor.” 

As he spoke, the regent looked at Gwynett. The latter, 
interpreting the look, moved to the door, and said, 

“You will permit me to wait his report before I leave, 
monseigneur ?” 

“I beg you will be so kind as to do so, chevalier.” 
Gwynett bowed, left the room, and descended the stairs 
to one of the reception-rooms on the ground floor, where he 
sat down. Shortly after he heard the arrival of the doctor, 
and his footsteps ascending to the boudoir. There was a 
few minutes’ interval, and then the regent, followed by the 
doctor, came down to the room where Gwynett was waiting. 


420 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“M. Vidal thinks it must be a case of failure of the 
heart’s action, chevalier/’ reported the regent. 

“That is, in default of an autopsy,” added the doctor. 
“But I confess I do not understand it. Madame’s heart 
was perfectly sound.” 

“Then you think an examination is necessary, M. le 
docteur ?” 

“It is necessary if we are to know the cause of death 
with any certainty. For myself, I take the natural view 
that one ought to know as much as one can.” 

“In that case, M. le docteur,” said the regent, “I will 
make a statement to you, which I need not say must be 
considered absolutely confidential.” 

The doctor bowed. 

“It is this, M. le docteur. A little while before you were 
sent for, madame was showing us a small bottle of some 
preparation, which she said had just reached her — she did 
not state how — as a new discovery. This was it.” , 

The regent took the phial out of his pocket, and handed 
it to Vidal. 

“Something was said about its being intended for my 
laboratory, and then — before I could possibly interfere — 
madame put it to her lips and drank off some of the con- 
tents. M. le chevalier was a witness.” 

Gwynett nodded in confirmation. 

“The effect,” proceeded the regent, “was immediate and 
disastrous — in fact, the comtesse seemed to become uncon- 
scious instantly, and was to all appearance dead in a few 
seconds.” 

The doctor smelt the bottle. 

“I don’t know this,” he remarked. “Do you, M. le 
chevalier ?” 

“Not in the least,” replied Gwynett.* 

“Under the circumstances, my dear M. Vidal,” said the 
regent, “you will see that the results of an autopsy might 
be very embarrassing, and serve no purpose at all — more 
especially as nothing remains of this dangerous stuff. 
What was not swallowed was probably spilt on madame’s 
dress or on the carpet beside the couch.” 

* The toxic element of oil of bitter almonds, now called hydro- 
cyanic or prussic acid, was made known by Scheele in 1782. 


Fiat Justitia 


421 

“All this explains matters,” replied Vidal. “That is, as 
far as I am concerned.” 

“Then yon will say ?” 

“What I said upstairs, monseigneur. It is impossible to 
contradict that, at all events. Everyone dies of failure of 
the heart’s action.” 

The regent turned to Gwynett. 

“We will go now, chevalier,” he said. 

The three men left the room, and passed out into the 
hall. Half a dozen of the servants were standing about, 
gossiping in low tones over the news which had just 
reached them. 

“A most shocking end to our pleasant evening, cheva- 
lier,” lamented the regent loudly, as they approached the 
entrance, attended by the major-domo. “By the way, M. 
Lescaut, you will put seals on madame’s rooms and ef- 
fects, pending the arrival of' the members of her family. 
Nothing must he touched.” 

The major-domo bowed, and the regent left the house 
on foot, Gwynett accompanying him back to the Palais- 
Royal, and the doctor going off to his own house. 

“My dear chevalier,” said the regent, as soon as the doc- 
tor had left them, “you have laid me under an obligation 
that I can never discharge. Formerly you saved my life. 
To-night you have saved my honor. But for you, a king 
of France, of whom I am the guardian and protector, would 
have been murdered under my nose for my benefit* and I 
should have been rendered infamous for ever.” 

“Then you guessed, monseigneur?” 

“Not at all — I heard. I was listening to you for the 
best part of an hour. But wait till we are indoors.” 

They were just entering the Palais-Royal, and the regent 
led the way to his cabinet. When they were seated, he 
went on, 

“Although I confess to playing the eavesdropper, cheva- 
lier, you will probably acquit me of any feeling of jealousy 
as a motive for my indecorous behavior. That is not my 
way, as I daresay you will allow.” 

“I did not suppose it, monseigneur.” 

“As a matter of fact, I was a little uneasy about you. 
I heard from Dubois, just after you had left me to go to 
madame de Valincour’s, that her invitation to you had fol- 


422 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

lowed immediately on her learning the fact that yon and 
Ambrose Gwynett were the same person. The possibility 
of her knowing and sympathizing with her brother’s dia- 
bolical malignity against you in the latter character struck 
me at once, and filled me with suspicion about her mo- 
tives — all the more as it was not certain but that your share 
in the circumstances of the abbe’s death might somehow 
transpire in conversation.” 

“It appeared, monseigneur, that madame had no clear 
memory in connection with my name, although she had 
evidently heard it.” 

“Yes. But I did not know that, and her curiously strong 
affection for her brother left a good many possibilities open. 
My admiration for her never went the length of crediting 
her with any scruples, and I was not disposed to afford 
scope for any Corsican-like notions of the vendetta. I 
therefore gave up my idea of sleeping at Vincennes, and 
went to her house, entering it by the private stairs to her 
boudoir, of which I have a key — with the intention, of 
course, of relieving you from any embarrassing turn which 
things might have taken. When I entered the room ” 

“You, mon seigneur ?” 

“Yes. That is to say, I had just put my head between 
the portieres , when I saw your very comfortable atti- 
tude ” 

Gwynett was about to speak, but the regent went on, 

“I was not criticising, my dear chevalier. But it was evi- 
dent at a glance that my fears were altogether groundless, 
and I was withdrawing gracefully when madame made a 
statement of her programme about my regency. Naturally 
it interested me to hear that four members of our house 
had been assassinated for my benefit, and I decided to wait 
and hear the details. The rest you know; and, as I said 
before, I am infinitely obliged to you.” 

The regent went to a cabinet, brought out wine, and 
filled glasses for Gwynett and himself. Then he went back 
to his chair, took his snuff-box from his pocket, and helped 
himself meditatively to a pinch. 

“I am rather curious, chevalier,” he said, “to know the 
grounds for your action this evening. You will of course 
understand that I am not calling in question the sound- 


Fiat Justitia 


423 

ness of your judgment. I merely ask for information’s 
sake.” 

“Monseigneur,” replied Gwynett, “that woman was sim- 
ply a demon. I felt sure that you would not wish or per- 
mit such a monster, whatever her relations might be with 
yourself, to escape justice. It is quite clear from what you 
yourself heard, to say nothing of other matters, that she 
had qualified herself for La Greve nearly half a dozen 
times over.” 

“I do not contradict you, chevalier. But what do you 
mean by ‘other matters ?’ ” 

“A discovery I made, monseigneur, some short time be- 
fore your arrival.” 

“What was that, if I may ask ?” 

“Nothing less than that the comtesse was the woman of 
the messe noire ” 

“What ! Latour’s customer ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good God ! Really that seems a little more horrible 
even than the other affairs. But how did you know?” 

“Through a hint of Sanson’s. He described to me a per- 
sonal mark on the neck of the visitor who came to him for 
the candles — two little moles behind the right ear, one 
above the other. They are on the neck of the comtesse.” 

“That is quite correct.” 

“When I saw those, monseigneur, I determined, if il 
were possible, to learn more, and acted accordingly. A 
woman who had done that had probably done other things. 
Luckily, as you heard, the conversation led to an avowal 
of crimes of which, I take it, no one ever suspected the 
comtesse in the slightest degree.” 

“Never. Most of them, as it happened, were laid to my 
charge at the time.” 

“That was my impression. As to my own responsibility 
in the matter, I had a double reason for action. In the 
first place it was perfectly clear, from what Latour said, 
that the messe noire was devised on my account — I was 
the lover that the devil was to bring to madame la 
comtesse.” 

“It appears so.” 

“Therefore, monseigneur, I had to reckon with a woman 


424 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

who was — as she thought — leagued with Satan to entangle 
me in a network of infamous treacheries.” 

“That- seems to give you a locus standi , I adm\i.” 

“You will understand, monseigneur, that I could not 
dream of keeping silence, either about the messe noire, or 
the poisonings. But if I spoke, justice would have to take 
its course. In fact, such a woman was altogther too dan- 
gerous to be allowed to live.” 

“I agree with you, on the whole. Of course there was 
the alternative of imprisonment for life. But that would 
have attracted attention.” 

“If your highness happens to have incorruptible women 
jailers, of course imprisonment would have ensured safety, 
although not perhaps punishment.” 

“Women jailers?” echoed the regent. 

“Does your highness, knowing what you know, think 
that any man or set of men could have been trusted with 
her ?” 

(( Pardieu! no — you are quite right. She would have se- 
duced any of them, sooner or later.” 

“I thought so.” 

“But why, chevalier, take upon yourself the function of 
executioner ?” 

“Monseigneur, if I was right in thinking that this woman 
should not, and could not, escape the penalty of death for 
her crimes ” 

“Granted fully, chevalier.” 

“Then, monseigneur, it seemed to me that as she had to 
die, she would certainly — if she had to choose — prefer to 
die by my hand, without fear, pain, or even knowledge, 
rather than on the scaffold. That was why I killed her.” 

“I do not say you were wrong. If you were, I am none 
the less thankful to you for relieving me of a frightful 
responsibility. But after all, chevalier, you might have 
failed — I take it your gift of inducing that trance-sleep 
will not operate with everyone?” 

“By no means, monseigneur.” 

“Then it might not have succeeded with the comtesse?” 

“Not necessarily.” 

“What would you have done in that case ?” 

“As to that, monseigneur, I do not think it would have 
made much difference. I had quite made up my mind, in 


Fiat Justitia 


425 


case the comtesse did not sleep when I wished, to offer her 
the alternative of taking the poison herself — or, if she re- 
fused, of being at once denounced to justice.” 

“She might have 'repudiated her confession of the poison- 
ings.” 

“She could not have repudiated the two little moles. It 
was the messe noire that settled things — thanks to Sanson.” 

The regent ruminated for a minute or two. 

“I daresay you are right, chevalier. Of one thing you 
may rest assured — the comtesse would never have been 
aided by me to evade justice except by suicide, and she 
knew it. Therefore she would probably have accepted 
your offer, and killed herself — unless, by the way, she could 
have killed you in the meantime. However, as matters 
stand, I have escaped what makes me ill to think of, and I 
shall have nightmares for a month. Poor Louis de Bour- 
gogne !” 

The regent sighed heavily, and helped himself to an- 
other pinch of snuff. 

“It was a little curious,” he said, “that the comtesse 
brought herself to be so candid, after all.” 

“It was more than I expected,” replied Gwynett. “But 
I should explain that I was willing, with the whole force 
of my mind, that she should reveal something of her 
crimes. Whether that produced any effect, I cannot say. 
But the result was the same.” 

A little later the regent rose to wish Gwynett good night, 
and the two separated until the morning. 

The next day the comtesse’s sudden death was the talk 
of fashionable Paris, and M. de Torcy was one of the first 
callers at the Palais-Royal. After his condolences had 
been tendered, Gwynett was asked for, and gave his account 
of the recovery of the chests on board the Fleur de Lys. 
He detailed the steps taken for their security, and then re- 
marked, 

“I think, M. le marquis, you may take it that nothing 
more than I have told you can be learned from the Ker- 
modes as to the real ownership of the treasure. I have 
come to Paris to see if you have more definite informa- 
tion.” 

The marquis stroked his chin reflectively. 

“It is not quite easy to decide offhand,” he said. “With 


426 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

your permission, my dear M. Gwynett, I should like the 
opinion of monseigneur on the matter.” 

Gwynett took the opportunity of retiring to the labora- 
tory, and M. de Torcy entered at once upon the discussion 
of the affair with the regent. He explained the circum- 
stances of the bribe to the duke of Marlborough, and 
added, 

“Of course the money was paid over originally to the 
duke. But if M. de Marlborough is a little too clever, and, 
consequently loses his money, is it our business to take care 
of it for him?” 

“For my part, I say not in the least.” 

“I happen to know,” said the marquis, “that the duke 
was coquetting with M. de Galas fully a month after our 
interview at Eekeren. And those intrigues a little later 
with prince Eugene and Bothmar made it perfectly clear 
that he was ready to resume command in the Low Coun- 
tries if he had the chance, in spite of his bargain with us.” 

“Well, what do you suggest?” 

The marquis shrugged his shoulders. 

“Monseigneur, if you want the money yourself, you have 
only to say so. Obviously M. Gwynett’ s impression is that 
the treasure has been ours all along, and he will be sur- 
prised if he is told anything else.” 

“Probably. On the other hand, marquis, it happens 
that M. Gwynett has recently done me a service which a 
hundred treasures like that of the Fleur de Lys would never 
repay. Some day I may tell you what it was. At present 
my idea is to leave the money with him by way of partial 
recompense.” 

“Monseigneur, do you by chance imagine that you will 
ever persuade M. Gwynett to accept anything for any pos- 
sible services?” 

The regent burst out laughing. 

“Good Lord ! no,” he replied. “He is what I should call 
in the laboratory a non-absorbent. In a world of sponges, 
that is quite a curiosity. No, indeed — it is your business, 
my dear marquis, to manage the matter so that he will not 
smell a rat. I wash my hands of it.” 

“Do I understand, monseigneur, that you really wish M. 
Gwynett to keep this money ?” 


Fiat Justitia 


427 

“I wish to do him a good turn without his knowing it, 
and this seems the only available way/'’ 

“Well, we can try. Let us go to the laboratory/’ 

Gwynett was at work in his blouse and apron when the 
two gentlemen entered the laboratory. 

“Chevalier,” said the regent, “M. de Torcy has been ex- 
plaining to me the nature of the service you rendered his 
late majesty — to a large extent without your knowing it — 
when you brought the Fleur de Lys to Calais. There were 
reasons then, as now, why those services cannot well be 
avowed to you. But they were so great that I am not sur- 
prised at his majesty desiring to express his recognition of 
them.” 

“Monseigneur, there was an end of that matter when he 
presented me with the brig.” 

“And its cargo,” put in the marquis. “Permit me to 
say, chevalier, that we had reasons for not foreseeing ex- 
actly how much, or how little, of the treasure would be left 
in the brig when restored to you at the time specified when 
we hired it from you, and therefore we could say nothing 
about it. But the unforeseen delay in its restoration does 
not alter anything. You may accept my assurance that 
everything in the papers produced by captain Kermode 
was perfectly in order. In whatever condition you found 
the ship and its contents, they remain yours in every par- 
ticular.” 

“There is no doubt about that,” added the regent. 
“Whatever was intended to be retained by his late majesty 
was removed by yourself at Calais. The rest belongs to 
you.” 

“I do not understand it in the least,” replied Gwynett. 

“Monseigneur agrees with me,” said the marquis, “that 
imperative reasons preclude our explaining ourselves more 
fully. But you are quite mistaken if you suppose that the 
French crown or government had any concern with this 
money.” 

“But who was the real hirer of the brig?” asked Gwy- 
nett, completely puzzled. 

“His late majesty, of course.” . 

“Then how did Kermode come to be in charge of it?” 

The marquis smiled. 

“Excuse me, chevalier. That is precisely our secret/’ 


428 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“I beg your pardon. But is there absolutely no other 
source of information open to me?” 

“None that I am aware of.” 

Gwynett pondered a little. 

“Possibly,” he said, “the duke himself might know some- 
thing. Unfortunately this recent seizure of his makes it 
impossible to approach him on the subject.” 

The marquis coughed drily. 

“I understood you to say,” he remarked, “that M. de 
Marlborough’s safe-conduct to Kermode was made out in 
your name ” 

“Certainly. But ” 

“Permit me to hint, chevalier, that if M. de Marlborough 
should ever recover sufficiently to attend to affairs, he will 
scarcely care to be reminded of what was perhaps a little 
indiscreet of him — namely, safeguarding his late majesty’s 
treasure-ship in time of open war. In the meanwhile, my 
dear M. Gwyuett, I am afraid you must reconcile yourself 
to the fact of being a millionaire.” 

“It seems so,” replied Gwynett rather discontentedly. 




Fiat Justitia 


429 


CHAPTER XLYI. 

REQUIEM ^ETERNAM DONA El. 

T HE funeral of madame de Yalincour took place the 
next day, and was kept as private as possible out of 
consideration (as was reported) for the grief of the 
regent. 

The police had shut up Marie Latour’s shop on the night 
of the examination, and it was spread abroad that she had 
gone on a visit into the country. Justin’s relatives, who 
had troubled themselves very little about him at any time, 
were told by the police that he had met with a fatal ac- 
cident, and had been buried before his identity was dis- 
covered. 

Gwynett duly received from lord Stair his pardon under 
the great seal, together with a fresh authority for his own 
and Noel’s presence in Scotland on his majesty’s service. 
Armed with these he had no longer any motive for delaying 
his return to England, and so bade farewell to M. de Torcy^ 
and the regent. 

The latter made no attempt to conceal his regret at losing 
his guest, and presented him at parting with a miniature 
of himself, set in a perfectly plain velvet case. 

“Chevalier,” he said, “this is the first time I have ever 
given away such a thing without a setting of diamonds. If 
your friends in England wonder at that, tell them that 
Philippe d’ Orleans flatters himself he knows how to pay a 
compliment.” 

“You have hit it exactly, monseigneur. This portrait 
will be my most valued memento.” 

“In return, chevalier, make me a little present.” 

“Name it, monseigneur.” 

“As soon as you get back to Dorrington, send me a piece 
of the timber of the Fleur de Lys. I will have an inkstand 
made of it, in honor of your voyages in her, and the adven- 
tures resulting therefrom.” 

“It shall be done at once, monseigneur.” 


430 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“And remember that yon will always be welcome at the 
Palais-Royal so long as I am here to welcome yon. After 
that, who knows? Perhaps some day I shall come knock- 
ing at yonr own door, as James II. did at St. Germain. 
Yon may depend upon it I would rather come to yon than 
to yonr Hanoverian at St. James’s, who cannot even speak 
French, and who wonld expect me to admire his mesdames 
Schnlenbnrg, or Platen, or any other fat frnmps he mav 
have imported to illustrate his notions of female beanty. 
Adien ! and all happiness attend yon.” 

* * * * * * * * * 

Gwynett preferred to ride to Calais instead of travelling 
by post. On the first night after his departure, the sultry 
weather culminated in a violent thunderstorm which ren- 
dered the valley roads impassable. He was thus obliged 
to make almost the same detour as he had done when escort- 
ing the treasure w^agons to Paris five years previously. The 
weather did not improve after the storm, but settled into 
steady rain with a chilly temperature and a universal gloom 
over the whole face of the country. 

About noon of the second day, crossing the flat uplands 
near Doullens amid the cheerless downpour of rain, Gwy- 
nett came up behind a long procession of country people 
who were walking bare-headed. A dozen yards in advance 
of the procession there were two priests, carrying lighted 
candles which they sheltered under a sort of umbrella of 
leather, and before the priests a little acolyte rang a bell. 
Half-way between these and the train of followers walked a 
man dressed in a monk’s frock, with a cowl drawn over 
his face, and his head bent downwards to the ground. 

J ust as Gwynett came up, the procession turned off down 
a side road to a parish church a few yards distant from 
the highway. Rather curious as to the nature of the func- 
tion in progress, in which he could recognize nothing 
familiar, Gwynett dismounted, attached himself to the tail 
of the procession, and followed bare-headed like his com- 
panions. 

At the church door a white-haired old cure stood await- 
ing, attended by two clerks bearing a cross and holy water. 
The two priests and the acolyte came up, and passed to 
one side. The man in the monk’s dress advanced in his 
turn, and stood still, 












Fiat Justitia 


431 

The cure sprinkled him with holy water, and muttered 
the De profundis , ending, with raised voice, 

“Requiem jeternam dona ei, Domine, et lux per- 

PETUA LUCEAT El.” 

With the antiphon he turned and passed into the church, 
droning the Miserere mei. The monk followed, and, at a 
distance, the rest of the persons present. Gwynett won- 
dered very much what the ceremony — which seemed to be 
that of a funeral with the coffin left out — could portend, 
and he decided to witness the conclusion of it. He there- 
fore tied his horse to the lych-gate, and entered the church 
in company with an old farmer who brought up the rear of 
the procession. 

The monk had advance*! to the middle of the church, 
which was draped with black. A black mat was spread 
upon the floor, with trestles at each end, also draped with 
black. At each end of each trestle stood a silver candle- 
stick with a wax candle. 

The monk, at a sign from the cure, knelt in the centre of 
the mat, facing the altar. The acolyte lighted the four 
candles on the trestles, and the service proceeded until the 
responsory Libera me, Domine was reached. While this 
was being sung, the priest and his acolyte put incense in 
the thurible, and Gwynett whispered to his neighbor, 

“My friend, what is this service?” 

The old farmer seemed a little surprised, but replied, 

“The service of the burial of the dead, monsieur.”* 

“Who is dead?” asked Gwynett. 

“No one, monsieur.” 

As this answer explained nothing, Gwynett looked 
round the church again, without however seeing any elu- 
cidation of the mystery. The choir sang the Kyrie eleison, 
and the priest advanced to the kneeling monk, whom he 
sprinkled thrice — on the feet, the shoulders, and the head 
— with holy water. 

Then he returned, took the censer from the acolyte, and 
walked around the mat, incensing the kneeling figure as 
he did so. 

“What has the monk to do with this service, my friend ?” 
asked Gwynett of his companion. 

“It is for him, monsieur.” 

“What? this funeral service?” 


432 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“Why?” 

“Because after this he will be as one dead, monsieur.” 

“How is that ?” 

“Monsieur, he is a leper.” 

“A leper ?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“And is this service customary with all who are lepers ?” 

“It is performed when they are first discovered to be 
lep'ers, monsieur. From this church the leper is conducted 
to the Madeleine* on the heath, a couple of miles from 
here. There he must stay till he dies. As no clean person 
can be with him then, or bury him afterwards, the service 
is performed for him now.” 

Gwynett shuddered, and turned his eyes pityingly upon 
the sombre figure kneeling between the four candles. 

The service in the church had now ended, and the pro- 
cession was reformed to leave the building again. The 
priest and his colleagues passed out first, and the monk, 
taking up his mat, followed. Behind came the mourners 
and spectators as before, and Gwynett, leading his horse 
by the bridle, brought up the rear. 

The rain fell in an unceasing drizzle, and through the 
downpour the procession plodded slowly along the side road 
till it became a mere track on a wide heath or common. 

In the distance was a scattered line of stunted fir-trees, 
and amongst them a group of three or four dilapidated 
huts or sheds. To the nearest of these the priest led the 
way, and when the wretched hovel was reached the monk, 
passing on in front, stood near the doorway facing the rest 
of his escort. But his head remained always bent down- 
wards to the ground. 

The priest stooped down, took up a handful of earth, 
and threw it over the monk, saying in a loud voice, 

“Ego sum resurrectio et vita; qui credit in me, 

ETIAM SI MORTUUS FUERIT, VIVET ; ET OMNIS QUI VIVET ET 
CREDIT IN ME, NON MORIETUR IN ^TERNAM.” 

The monk remained motionless. 

*The “Madeleine” or “Ladrerie” (so named from Magdalen 
and Lazarus orLadres, the patron saints of lepers) was the dwell- 
ing or group of dwellings on the remote outskirts of a village 
within which lepers were rigidly isolated from their fellows until 
death overtook them. 


Fiat Justitia 


433 


The priest went on, 

“Requiem ^eternam dona ei, Domine ” 

The choir responded, 

“Et lux perpetua luceat ei.” 

“Requiescat in pace.” 

“Amen,” sang the choir. 

“Anima ejus, et anim^e omnium fidelium defunc- 

TORUM PER MISERCORDIAM Dei REQUIESCANT IN PACE.” 

And the choir sang again, 

“Amen.” 

The priest turned to one of his assistants, who bore a 
bundle of articles under his arm, and signed to him to put 
them one by one upon the ground in front of the monk. 
The man laid down successively a coarse black gown with 
a black hood and a red cross on the shoulder, a staff, a 
rope girdle with a bell attached to it, a sack, and a blanket. 

The priest came forward and addressed the monk, say- 

ing, 

“Brother, hear the commands of the Church and of the 
law, and obey them, on pain of death. 

“You will live under this roof, and under no other, until 
you die. 

“When you walk abroad, you will wear this gown, with 
its hood drawn down, and you will fasten this girdle, with 
its bell, around you. 

“If you seek food from any man, you will carry this 
sack and staff, and with the staff you will point to the 
food you may see, or to the sack, that food may be put 
down for you. 

“You will never approach within ten yards of any clean 
person. You will allow no part of your body to be seen 
at any time. You will never speak to any clean person, 
nor help him, nor receive help from him. 

“You will not touch anything belonging to any man, 
nor enter any house. But you may hear mass through the 
lepers’ window of the church.” 

He cast a glance round, and several persons brought for- 
ward small loaves, bags of grain, and other gifts of food 
or utensils, and laid them by the gown and staff. 

Then the priest turned again to the leper, and said, 

“Brother, if you have aught to say to me or anyone pres- 
ent, speak, seeing that it is for the last time.” 


434 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

The monk half raised his head, and his gaze wandered 
round the crowd. Then he shook his head in silence. 

The priest raised his hands for a moment in silent bless- 
ing. 

“Farewell,” he said. 

An echoing murmur came from the bystanders, and sobs 
could be heard from two or three of the women in the 
background. The leper remained motionless as before, his 
cowled head bent to the ground. 

The priest waved his hand in sign of dismissal, and said, 

“It is finished. Depart, all of you, to your homes, and 
pray for the soul of this our brother.” 

The crowd began to break up and file across the com- 
mon in the direction by which it had came. Gwynett 
turned to the old farmer, and asked, 

“Are these huts kept for lepers, my friend?” 

“Yes, monsieur. But I think they are all empty now.” 

He pointed to the farthest of the hovels, and added, 

“Two women used to live there. But no one has seen 
them for months, so they are probably dead.” 

“Dead? what, in the hut there?” 

“Yes, monsieur.” 

“Has no one been to see?” 

“God forbid ! no.” 

“But if they are dead, will no one bury them?” 

“Ho one, monsieur — unless it be pere Germont.” 

“Pere Germont? the cure of Ste. Marie Geneste?” 

“He was cure there, monsieur.” 

“And where is he now?” 

“Monsieur does not know, then? That is he,” and he 
pointed to the leper. 

Gwynett looked at him incredulously. 

“That pere Germont?” he asked. 

“Assuredly, monsieur. Nobody knew till a day or two 
ago that he had the disease. It was found out by accident.” 

The old farmer moved off, and Gwynett watched him 
join the stragglers of the procession, now almost out of 
sight in the thick drizzle. Before he mounted his horse, 
he glanced once more at the still motionless figure of the 
leper, who in his turn stood watching the train of mourn- 
ers disappearing across the sodden waste. 

Behind him was the doorway of the miserable hovel in 


Fiat Justitia 


435 


which for the rest of his solitary life he was to live, and in 
which he was to die like a dog. Before him in a heap lay 
the symbols of his doom, the bell to sound in the ear of the 
shuddering wayfarer, the red cross to warn, the eye, the 
staff to emphasize the leper’s silent gesture when he begged 
for bread. 

Gwynett mounted his horse, and came a little nearer to 
the leper. Then he took one of his pistols from his holster, 
and held it out. 

“Mon pere , 55 he said, “you are probably considering 
whether the kind of life these people have left you is 
worth living. If it is not, this pistol is very much at your 
service / 5 

Pere Germont raised his head, and threw back his cowl. 
Gwynett could not repress a start of horror at the sight 
of the face thus for the first time revealed to his gaze. 

“I thank you, monsieur , 55 replied the leper. “But it is 
not necessary. I can die more comfortably than that, 
when I choose to die — thus . 55 

He thrust his hand into a pocket of his vest, drew out a 
little bottle, and after showing it to Gwynett put it back 
again. 

Gwynett returned his pistol to the holster, and asked, 

“Is there any final service I can render you, mon pere ? 55 

The leper considered for a moment, and then replied, 

“Monsieur, if you have the opportunity, I beg that you 
will tell what you have seen to my only relative — a niece 
who lives in Paris . 55 

“What is her name ? 55 

“Marie Latour . 55 

“Marie Latour ! 55 

“A perfumer, in the Rue Beauregard . 55 

“Mon pere, what you ask is impossible. Marie Latour is 
dead . 55 

“Since when ? 55 

“Five days ago . 55 

“That is strange , 55 muttered the leper. 

“She was killed by a man whose child she confessed to 
have assassinated . 55 

The leper looked up quickly, and then down again. 
After a pause, he said, 

“Monsieur, in that case I should be glad if you will 


436 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

write so much to one of her customers, madame la comtesse 
de Valincour.” 

“Mon pere, she too is dead.” 

The priest started, and his right hand clutched at his 
breast. A minute passed silently. Then he said, 

“There is only one other person who need know of my 
fate. It is madame de Valincour 7 s brother, M. Fabbe Gaul- 
tier.” 

“M. Gaultier is dead also.” 

The priest uttered a hoarse cry, and flung out his hands 
with a gesture of despair. 

“All dead !” he muttered. “And I — I live on. Accursed ! 
accursed ! accursed !” 

Gwynett waited in silence for some moments, and then 
asked, 

“Is there nothing else, mon pere?” 

The leper looked at him vacantly, recovered himself with 
an effort, and replied, 

“Nothing, monsieur, I thank you.” 

Gwynett gathered up his reins, and drew his cloak round 
him. Then he uncovered his head, and said, 

“Mon pere, farewell — and may God have mercy on your 
soul !” 

The leper laughed hideously, turned his back without a 
word, and went into the hut. 

Gwynett shuddered, put on his hat again, and rode away. 

On a distant ridge of the common he reined in his horse, 
and looked back at the hovel. Dimly through the murk he 
could distinguish a grey spot relieved against the gloomy 
background of the doorway. It was the face of the leper, 
gazing at the retreating form of the last man with whom 
he should speak on earth. 

Then the grey spot vanished, and Gwynett turned his 
horse to resume his journey. The rain continued to fall 
without ceasing, and presently the Madeleine of Ste. Marie 
Geneste disappeared on the desolate horizon. 


Fiat Justitia 


437 


CHAPTER LXYII. 

BACK AT DORRINGTON. 

W ELL, my dear fellow/’ remarked Dorrington, “now 
that you have been pardoned for being not guiltv 
of a crime that was never committed, and can 
walk abroad without any risk of wearing another hempen 
cravat, what are your arrangements?” 

Gwynett looked at Muriel, who was walking towards 
them with Avice, and replied, 

“We have decided, sir, to wait Noel’s answer — in person, 
I hope — to my letter written to him from London. If he 
and Avice like to have their wedding at once, we will all 
be married together — if not, with your permission Muriel 
and I propose not to wait any longer than is necessarv to 
put Thornhaugh in comfortable trim for its mistress. That 
I shall have to attend to at once, in any case, and I think 
of leaving for Kent to-morrow.” 

Muriel came up, and took a seat between her father and 
her -fiance . 

“What are you talking about?” she asked. 

“An old story, my dear. Once upon a time there was 
an unfeeling daughter, who, having been separated from 
her father for more than twenty years, had no sooner met 

him again than ” 

Muriel put her hand over his mouth. 

“There, that will do,” she said. “As if Ambrose and I 
would hear of your living anywhere but with us at Thorn- 
haugh !” 

“And what is to become of Dorrington? Do you sun- 
pose the folks here will allow me to desert them again, and 
not grumble?” 

“We can all come here now and then, as we did from 
Wray Manor. Aunt Rostherne will make an admirable 
chatelaine for you, to say nothing of enjoying a little irre- 
sponsible despotism when you are away.” 

“Certainly she has taken very kindly to the idea of wield- 


438 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

ing the sceptre here after your departure. But now, mV 
dear fellow, there is the other point. What are you going 
to do with the treasure here?” 

“I have not the slightest idea,” replied Gwynett. 
“Those people seem determined to force it upon me, and 
there it is. What can I do?” 

“A million sterling is a good round sum to be credited 
with. You will be astonished to find how it will increase 
your intelligence and your virtue, when people get to know 
of it. All your peccadilloes — which Muriel has yet to dis- 
cover — will be whitewashed, and the words of your mouth 
will be likened unto Solomon’s. You need only aver that 
two and two make five, and everybody will agree with you 
in the most charming way. If Muriel does not contradict 
you, I am sure no one else will, and your argumentative 
powers will atrophy for want of exercise. And how you 
will be loved by the people who hope to borrow money of 
you some day. Certainly, it is a fine thing to be a million- 
aire.” 

“You are quite right,” replied Gw}mett, with a long face. 
“I have thought of it all myself, and it is simply sicken- 
ing. Before this cropped up, I was perfectly happy in 
being Ambrose Gwynett of Thornhaugh, and, having 
Muriel, I want no more. Wherever I have gone, people 
have taken me for myself, and for no other reason, and I 
have had no occasion to grumble. Now, if this money is in 
question, one will always be wondering how much of what 
happens, happens on account of the money.” 

“Nothing can prevent that.” 

“Unless I get rid of it.” 

“For example?” 

“Well, I could hand it over to the crown.” 

“A good idea. Walpole would be delighted — a perfect 
godsend for him. Instead of buying the votes of merely 
sixty or eighty members of Parliament, he would be able 
to bribe half the House for the next dozen years at least.” 

“I could use it for the relief of poverty.” 

“That would be fine news for the tramps and cadgers 
from Land’s End to John o’ Groat’s House. Gad ! Kent 
would be chock-full of them in six months — and a good 
riddance for the rest of the country. They will put up a 
statue to you, if the money holds out long enough.” 


Fiat Justitia 


439 


“There are hospitals or colleges to he endowed.” 

“In other words, a whole gang of people who are now 
merely comfortably off are to be made wealthy for noth- 
ing. As for the patients or the scholars, who the dence is 
going to look after their interests? One would like to 
know how much of the straw for the poor wretches at Bed- 
lam escapes being stolen.” 

“It could not do much harm if I spent it in diamonds 
for Muriel.” 

“I would not wear a single stone,” replied Muriel. “How 
was all this gold obtained? By the toil and torture and 
death of the wretched slaves of Mexico and Peru. Every 
pistole reeks with tears and blood. For myself, I would 
rather never benefit by a penny of the money.” 

“That is a new view,” said Dorrington. “It is the first 
time I have heard that the English guinea has irreproach- 
able antecedents, and that the gold coming from the West 
African coast is acquired in the most pious and gentleman- 
ly fashion.” 

“Now you are laughing at me.” 

“It is no laughing matter, and I request that you and 
Ambrose will at your early convenience make up your 
minds about these boxes. It is a serious responsibility to 
be their custodian.” 

“There is unfortunately no property in the market near 
Thornhaugh,” meditated Gwynett, “and I have no fancy 
for merely holding land on which I cannot reside.” 

“The manor here is as large as I care about/ remarked 
Dorrington, “so I am afraid I cannot help you in that 
way.” 

“Really I am quite at a loss,” said Gwynett. “I very 
much wish, Mr. Dorrington, that you would take over the 
whole money yourself, as treasure-trove of the manor.” 

Dorrington turned very red. 

“The devil !” he ejaculated angrily. “Am I to under- 
stand, sir, that in your opinion what is not good enough 
for Gwynett of Thornhaugh is good enough for Dorring- 
ton. of Dorrington ?” 

Gwynett was quite taken aback by this interpretation of 
his offer. 

“My dear sir,” he protested, “I had not the slightest in- 
tention of suggesting anything of the sort. I only meant 
to appeal to your judgment from my own, which I confess 


440 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

fails me altogether. To be brief, I have no use for the 
money. I am altogether doubtful of doing anything but 
harm if I did use it, and above all things it revolts me to 
run the slightest risk of being esteemed for my money 
rather than myself. Why, therefore, should not the treas- 
ure remain where it is? That little recess can be solidly 
walled up and panelled over, and the chests will be buried 
there for good and all, until perhaps one day occasion may 
arise to put the treasure to some satisfactory use. No one 
but ourselves knows what is in the boxes, and I suppose we 
can keep the secret.” 

“I see no objection to that,” replied Dorrington, in a 
mollified tone. “But you will be kind enough to acquit 
me of all responsibility if thieves break through and steal. 
And it seems to me rather amusing to call something a 
secret which is known to at least four persons — and one of 
them a woman.” 


Epilogue 


441 


EPILOGUE. 

T HE middle of the month of June, 1722, witnessed a 
spectacle never presented in Great Britain before or 
since. 

London and its suburbs were for several days blocked 
with an army of visitors from the provinces; while all the 
roads for a hundred and fifty miles out of the metropolis 
were darkened by a continued stream of foot-passengers 
and riders making their way with one accord towards Pall 
Mall. Business was stopped all over the country, and 
among those who travelled Londonwards as among those 
who stayed at home, one subject alone occupied all minds 
and all tongues. 

No one thought or spoke, but of a dead man. For at his 
house in Pall Mall the great duke of Marlborough, who had 
died at Holywell on June 16th, was lying in state, and the 
whole nation was doing his dead body homage. 

On the last evening during which the public were ad- 
mitted to Marlborough House to look upon the face of the 
departed here, a tall man of between fifty and sixty years 
of age made his way through the enormous crowd which 
blocked Pall Mall, and took up his stand to wait until the 
last of the visitors had passed the portals on their way out 
of the building. As soon as the great door was closed, the 
man went to the side entrance and rang the bell. After a 
short conversation with the janitor, emphasized by the 
transfer of a handful of guineas to the latter’s pocket, the 
visitor gained admittance. Once inside, he was handed over 
to another servant, who took charge of a note which was 
given to him, and then led the way to the apartment where 
the duke’s body lay in state. Here he left the visitor 
alone, and disappeared. 

The dusk of the twilight had given place to night, and 
the great room was lit only by the two tall tapers at the 
head of the coffin. The visitor took his stand by its side, 
and waited. 

Presently a door leading to the private part of the house 


442 Gwynett of Thornhaugh 

opened, and a woman in widow’s weeds appeared on the 
threshold. It was the duchess of Marlborough. 

She advanced slowly to the bier, with an expression upon 
her face in which grief, anxiety, and defiance were strange- 
ly blended. At the other side of the coffin, she stopped 
and gazed steadily at the visitor, apparently seeking in her 
memory for something to aid her recognition of him. Then 
her brow contracted for a moment, and the visitor saw that 
he was remembered. 

He bowed profoundly, stood erect again, and drew from 
his pocket an old letter. This he unfolded, and held out 
across the bier under the light of the tapers, inviting the 
duchess, by a glance, to inspect it. 

After a moment’s pause she took a step forwards to bend 
her head over’ the faded characters. Then she raised it 
again, looking at the . visitor with an expression of mortal 
defiance. 

He still continued to hold out the letter, obviously in 
order that she might take it. But in silent reply she 
clasped her hands behind her, and gazed at him defiantly 
as before. 

Then the visitor bowed again, extended his hand, and 
set the letter alight at one of the tapers. It flamed out 
brightly, burnt away, and shrivelled up into black frag- 
ments. 

As these fragments broke and floated downwards, some of 
them fell on the breast and shoulders of the dead duke. 
The duchess started, and opened her clasped hands with 
a suppressed cry. But the visitor stretched out his hand 
with a solemn gesture of arrest. 

“Ashes to ashes,” he murmured. 

The duchess sank on her knees beside the bier, and buried 
her face in its sombre draping. 

The visitor stepped back, and made his way with silent 
footsteps to the door by which he had entered. With his 
fingers on the handle he turned to look at the duchess, as 
she knelt with bowed head and arms outstretched over the 
still form on the bier. 

Then he passed out, and went away. In the silence of 
the night the mourner remained, still kneeling, alone with 
the mighty dead. 


THE ENT), 


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• b I 














































































































* 


















































































































































* 






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